


How I Wish That You Were Mine

by blkkskknhed



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU, BAMF!Natasha, Bottom!Bucky, Bucky has issues, Canon-disabled character, Crossdressing, Death, Humour, Love, Love Triangle, Masturbation, Mentions of Terrorism, Middle East, Misunderstandings, Modern, Multi, PTSD, Phone Sex, Proposals, Redemption, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sexy Times, Shower Sex, Sweet, Sweet!Steve, Therapy, Violence, War, clueless!Steve, no powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blkkskknhed/pseuds/blkkskknhed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is this it? </p><p>Is this a war he's happy to die for?</p><p>Steve glanced at Bucky, watched him clean the blood from his hands, an unhappy frown furrowing across his brows as he worked. Steve opened his mouth to speak but found that he had no words.</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me you were Captain America in the bar that night?" Bucky suddenly asked and this time it was Steve who frowned.</p><p>"Why? Would it have made things any different?" He challenged.</p><p>Bucky dried his hands and gave Steve a careful look.</p><p>"Maybe." He answered honestly.</p><p> </p><p>Or </p><p> </p><p>Steve is the much adored Captain America, one of the most decorated Navy SEAL in American History. He meets James Barnes in a bar, completely unaware of who he is or his own achievements. This story follows their discovery of love, their fight for freedom and, of course, their struggle for humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this will be a multi-chapter things IF you guys like. 
> 
> So please tell me what you think!

“Please don’t tell me a guy like you is sitting here all alone.”

Steve doesn’t bother to look up the beer he’s nursing. He continues to pick at the label and makes a soft scoffing sound at the guy crowding him to his left. He didn’t want to get picked up. He just wanted to enjoy his beer and his rare evening off.

“I’m not alone.” He sighs. “I’m here with all those guys over _there_.”

Steve waves his hand over towards the raucous crowd of young soldiers downing shots over by the pool table in the corner of the bar. They were singing loudly and spilling their drinks as they danced along to some pop song with a rather addictive bass. The guy to his left makes a soft humming sound before pulling up a stool and placing himself on it. 

“You a marine?” he asks as he signals at the bartender to send over another two drinks.

Steve huffs and sits up straight, flickering his gaze over the guy. He begrudgingly admits to himself that the guy isn’t too hard on the eyes. He’s slim and lean and has the kind of face that belongs on the silver screen. Steve accepts the drink the bartender sends his way with a small smile. He tips the neck of his beer towards the guy as a way of showing his thanks.

“I’m a SEAL.” He answers quietly. “They’re my new team.” 

The stranger watches the group with a wry smirk before shaking his head and swallowing a mouthful of his own beer.

“You ask me, you’re gonna have your work cut out for you.” He chuckles. 

Steve glances back at the young men, now tormenting a group of women sitting near them and shrugs one large shoulder.

“They’ve worked hard for this night off.” He decides, giving them a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The stranger grins and leans closer, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“You know, I’ve worked hard for this night off, too. Being deployed in a few days. Be nice if the guy I’ve been watching all night would at least gimme his name.” 

Steve straightens up a little and fixes the dark-haired man with a slightly calculating look. His body language was open and friendly and his eyes were searching Steve’s curiously, one of his eyebrows quirked questioningly. 

“Where you headed?” he asks, raising his bottle to his lips, not missing the way the man to his left watches him.

“Gimme your name and I’ll tell ya.” He answers with a teasing smile.

Steve sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Captain Steve Rogers.” He announces dryly. “Who are you?”

“Sergeant James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky.” He answers flirtatiously, tilting his head to the side, his grin widening even further. 

“Well, _Bucky_ , where are you and your boys going?” 

Steve doesn’t notice the way he turns in his seat, moving closer to Bucky until their knees are almost touching. 

“You ask a lotta questions. How ‘bout each time you ask me a question you gotta take a shot? And vice versa.” Bucky suggests, resting his head in the palm of his hand, licking his rather full bottom lip almost suggestively.

Steve knows that he should probably say no. He knows his team probably wouldn’t care who he was drinking with but still. There were eyes everywhere and not everyone was as liberal as his team. But there was no way he could say no to that smile, to the way Bucky’s eyes sparkled as he watched him make up his mind. So Steve asks the bartender to pass them a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses, nodding at Bucky as he does so. 

“Alright. Where are you being deployed to?” Steve asks as he pours himself a shot.

Bucky watches him down it with a small smirk and wrinkles his nose as Steve grimaces at the taste. 

“Iraq. You usually prop yourself up by the bar and try and seduce strangers?” Bucky shoots back, downing his shot with a self-assured smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes again as he fills his own shot glass and gives Bucky a small smile.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce _anyone_. I was just having a quiet drink until you edged your way in.” Steve replies coolly. “ _Why_ did you come over here? There are plenty of girls here who’d have been a much cheaper date.”

Steve drains his shot glass and waits, watching Bucky’s face carefully. The younger man sucks in his bottom lip and gives Steve a warm look.

“I ain’t interested in a cheap date, Cap.” Bucky says smoothly, leaning in even closer.

Steve can smell the tequila on his breath, can even count the freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose and Steve would love nothing more than to close the distance between them but he pulls away, turning his head to the side and taking a slug of his beer. He smirks around the head of bottle as he takes in the slightly disappointed look on Bucky’s face. 

“You said you weren’t interested in a cheap date.” Steve points out quietly as he places his beer back on the mat.

Bucky pulls a face and rests his head in his hand again, watching Steve through his thick eyelashes. 

“Was just testing you.” He says easily. “Right…Where you from?”

Steve waits until Bucky has swallowed his drink before answering.

“Brooklyn.” 

He watches the way Bucky’s eyes light up and finds himself smiling at the excited look on his face despite himself.

“No way? I’m from Brooklyn too. You go to St. Joseph’s?” Bucky demands, completely forgetting that it was Steve’s to turn to ask a question.

Steve nods calmly. Bucky lets out a loud, whooping laugh and slams his hand on Steve’s shoulder, pulling him closer with a wide smile on his face. 

“Tell me you support the Nets.” He pleads. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to call it a night, pal.”

Steve laughs and gives Bucky a bemused look.

“I support the Nets.” He confirms, much to Bucky’s delight.

He grabs the bottle of requila and pours them both another shot and Steve can’t help but notice how beautiful he looks when he smiles like that; wide and unselfconscious. He passes Steve his shot glass and tips his own off of it gently.

“To the Nets.” Bucky declares passionately.

Steve laughs again and raises his own glass.

“To Brooklyn.” He agrees.

 

.

 

Steve’s drunk. 

He hopes that Bucky is too because he can barely stand. 

He leans against the damp wall behind him and rests his head against it, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s hand on his hip and his voice in his ear. He lips brush against the shell of his ear as he talks and Steve’s head is leaning in closer and closer until there are mere inches between them. His vision is swimming, the tequila warming his blood and vibrating through his veins. They are stolen away from the crowds of soldiers dancing and singing. They’re hidden in some dark corner and there is soft song playing now, the kind of song that Steve would have liked to dance to if he were able to move without falling.

“I’d like to kiss you.” Bucky mutters and Steve can feel his breath against his lips.

He wants to, he thinks. Bucky is funny and vibrant and full of life. Steve bets he would taste delicious. His mouth is red and swollen and Steve wishes he could lick away the beer clinging to that full bottom lip. He doesn’t though. He slowly turns his face away, a small, drunken smile splitting his lips.

“’m not a cheap date.” He reminds Bucky with a quiet laugh.

Bucky makes a frustrated groaning sound in the back of his throat and he squeezes Steve’s hip tighter before drawing away from him, a goofy smile on his face. 

“At least gimme your number. I ain’t got no sweetheart to call when I get shipped off.” He jokes, whipping out his phone and looking at Steve expectantly.

Steve frowns as he tries to remember his number, the alcohol making his head feel foggy and slow. He swallows and runs his tongue across his teeth before fumbling for his own phone. He hands it to Bucky and watches as the younger man laughs and types his own number in. He calls his own phone with Steve’s and then saves the number, those mysterious eyes glinting happily.

“You gonna answer if I call?” he teases as he slips Steve’s phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Steve nods, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.

“You betcha. Gonna look forward to that phone call.”

Bucky laughs softly to himself before leaning in close, his lips hovering over Steve’s for the briefest of moments before landing on his cheek. He winks up at Steve, obviously sensing his disappointment and steps back. He salutes him playfully before turning on his heel and getting ready to wade his way back into the crowd, some of the soldiers calling his name as he makes himself visible once again.

“You mind yourself, Stevie.” He tosses over his shoulder with a warm smile before letting himself be dragged into the centre of the dancefloor by the boisterous young men shouting at him.

Steve’s drunken fingers make their way to the spot where Bucky kissed him and he nods to himself. The spot feels warm and Steve strokes it for a moment before steadying himself and edging his way around the dancefloor to where his own team were waiting for him.

“Good night, Cap?” Dum Dum comments with a cheeky grin.

Steve’s tongue feels too heavy in his moment for him to reply so he simply nods and throws himself onto the seat beside him, much to the delight of his men.

And if he spends what is left of the night watching Bucky dance, so what? Steve got the feeling that he was doing exactly what Bucky wanted him to do.

 

.

 

 _“I’m terribly lonely. You should probably come save me.”_.

Steve huffs against the mouthpiece of his cell and rolls his eyes.

“And here I thought you were a trained military man. You tellin’ me you’re in Iraq a week and you already wanna come home?” Steve teases as he huddles closer beneath the blankets. “That’s really not that impressive, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky’s laughter is loud against Steve’s ear.

_“Sorry, Cap. It’s my first time being deployed. Guess I’m just not used to leaving my sweetheart behind.”_

Steve flushes a little at his words but he doesn’t comment. Just listens to the sound of Bucky’s breathing, the steady puffs of breath against microphone. He glances at his alarm clock and internally winces when he realizes that he has to be up in less than four hours. He never really needs much sleep anyway but his bed is comfortable and Steve doesn’t want to leave it any time soon.

“Why are you wasting your calls home on me? Don’t you have some heartbroken girl back home in Brooklyn wondering why her soldier isn’t callin’ her?” Steve teases.

Bucky sighs dramatically down the phone at him.

_“I told you already, Stevie; I ain’t got no other sweetheart. You’re my special guy.”_

Steve laughs quietly and shakes his head against the pillow.

“I’m really heavily rolling my eyes at you, just so you know.” He says dryly.

_“Don’t strain anything, dollface.”_

Steve snorts and is about to deliver an equally dry retort when he hears the crackle of gunfire sound through the static of the phone. He feels his own heartrate quicken and it is almost as if he is transported out there to the yellow sands of the Middle East. He sits up in the bed and listens intently, relaxing ever so slightly when he makes out Bucky’s even breathing. 

_“I gotta go. You hold on for me, Stevie. Don’t let any Prince Charming’s sweep you off your feet, alright, pal?”_

“Mind yourself, Bucky.” Steve replies gently before hanging up, willing his heartbeat to slow down. 

He rolls over in his bed and inhales deeply, rubbing the feeling of imagined dry sand from his eyes. He was going to be deployed himself soon enough, about to begin his third tour. He didn’t want to tell Bucky, didn’t want to explain to him why he hoped it was anywhere but the Middle East. He was sure his friend could understand.

 

.

 

“You hear the good news?” Sam asks as soon as Steve steps inside the SEAL base. 

The room is already half full with his team, each of them dressed in full uniform and waiting with anxious looks on their faces. They glance at Steve hopefully, obviously believing that he knows something they don’t.

He raises his eyebrows at Sam and gives him a wry smirk.

“Is it _actual_ good news or are you being sarcastic?” he challenges as he reaches passed his partner to grab some coffee. 

He fills his paper cup carefully and waits for Sam’s response. Sam pulls a face and leans against the table behind them, his own eyebrows raised. He folds his arms across his chest and checks hips with Steve, forcing him to bring his attention to Sam and not the display of breakfast muffins spread across the table. Steve grabs an apple and cinnamon one before giving Sam his full attention, his face carefully neutral.

“So. They’re having problems in the Middle East.” Sam begins casually.

Steve nods.

“Nothing new there. Colonel Philips does his best to keep me up-to-date with that kind of thing.” He says around his mouthful of baked goodness.

“So then you’ll have heard of the latest group of hostages taken by Islamic State troops?” Sam questions, his fingers coming forward and breaking some of Steve’s muffin off for himself.

Steve licks his lips and nods.

“Yes. Seventeen people, all civilians. SEAL strike team 3 is on it.” He recites.

Sam swallows before sighing.

“They _were_ but with the troubles in Afghanistan, they’ve had to push most of their team back. They’ve devised a specialist team for us to meet when we get over there, though. Supposedly they’re giving us their best men.” He says casually.

Steve’s eyes widen and he gives Sam a searching look.

“We’re being deployed to Syria? I thought that SEAL 10 was on that?” he demands.

Sam shakes his head and takes a slow, deep sip of his own coffee.

“They’ve been reassigned to help with the crises in the Ukraine, well, they will be once Europe decides to _finally_ push against Putin. They’re getting prepared and waiting on the side-lines, leaving ISIS to us, my friend.” Sam declares with a small laugh.

There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes that Steve wishes he could replicate. He looks down at the rich, dark coffee in his hands before shrugging his shoulders and giving Sam a small, bemused smile.

“I guess if our boys need us, we gotta get out there.” 

Sam punches his shoulder playfully and winks at him.

“That’s the spirit! On the plus side, of which there are a great many things, let me tell you that much, I’ve heard from the incredibly reliable source that is Tony Stark, that Peggy Carter and the Special Activities Division have already set up camp in Syria and are looking forward to working with us.” Sam announces with a wide, blinding grin.

Steve’s stomach flips at the mention of her name but he plays it cool, only slightly smiling as he rolls his eyes at his friend. Sam grin only widens however and he shoves back at Steve playfully, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you can play it cool all you want, Rogers. I know you can’t wait to get on that plane.”

 

.

 

_“To be honest, I almost feel like I’m on vacation, Stevie. The weather is beautiful, the locals are friendly…Lonely Planet should really get on this hidden gem as soon as. It’s unspoiled, y’know?”_

Steve laughs as he folds his clothes into his duffel bag, Bucky’s amused snort echoing through the apartment. 

“Glad to hear you’re having such a good time.” Steve comments sarcastically. “You been working on a tan?”

_“I sure have, baby. Can’t wait for you to see it.”_

Steve rolls his eyes and flops down on his bed beside his cell, taking it off loudspeaker and cradling it against his face.

“How many more days?” he asks, careful not to tell Bucky that he’s being deployed to Syria tomorrow.

It’s not that he didn’t want to tell him, he just didn’t want to worry him. He didn’t want him to have to think about him in Syria on top of everything else.

_“I dunno, pal. I’m not counting; find time passes quicker that way.”_

Steve smiles fondly at the blank ceiling above his bed and sighs.

“You sound pretty seasoned for a first timer.” He comments.

_“Did I tell you this was my first tour? Forgive me, Stevie, I’m no newbie. I done this twice before.”_

Steve’s smile widens and he wriggles closer to his pillow, still holding the phone like it was something precious.

“I knew you were no virgin.” He breathes. “You picked yourself up a sweetheart way too quick for that.”

Bucky’s laughter is warm and Steve almost feels as if it brightens the room somehow, even from that far away.

_“I promise you’re my only one, though. There’s only one guy I’m callin’ back home.”_

Steve bites down on his bottom lip and breathes softly.

“You’re the only one calling, too.” Steve tells him and he doesn’t know why because he doesn’t know what this is.

_“Good.”_

And Bucky’s voice is so much gentler now, something that Steve wants to hold in the palm of his hand and cradle against his chest. There is nothing but the sound of their breathing for a moment and then Steve rolls over onto his stomach and sighs.

“What are you doing now?” he wonders.

Bucky’s responding laughter is a little breathless.

_“If I told you I was jerkin’ off, would you hang up on me?”_

Steve chokes back his shocked laughter and his eyes widen in amazement.

“What are…what are you jerking off to?” Steve whispers, his mouth suddenly much drier than usual.

There’s the sound of a huff of breath and then Bucky makes a pained kind of sound.

_“Do I gotta tell you that?”_

Steve nods even though he knows Bucky can’t see him.

“Yeah…”

Another sigh and then Bucky clears his throat.

_“You, Stevie.”_

Steve’s cheeks flush furiously and he feels his own cock twitch with interest as he imagines Bucky taking himself in hand.

“I…why me?”

Bucky groans loudly again, a humiliated sound.

_“Jeez, Steve, ‘cause I think you’re amazin’, alright? You and that Godly bod of yours.”_

Steve remains silent for a moment, still processing what Bucky had told him. He rolls back onto his back and continues to stare at the ceiling, an uncertain frown creasing his forehead.

_“You mad?”_

Steve swallows.

“No.”

_“You wanna…you wanna maybe jerk off together?”_

Steve swallows again, louder this time. His free hand slides down his stomach and slips under the waistband of his pants, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Yeah…” He whispers, his cheeks burning as he takes himself in hand.

He pumps himself slowly, feeling his length harden in his hand. Bucky groans again but this time it is so much different, something much more intimate than before.

“I’m still not a cheap date though.” He reminds him with a breathless smile.

Bucky’s laughter in his ear is deep and velvety, making his toes curl in anticipation.

_“No way, darlin’. I’ve been working towards this for a month now. You’re all class.”_

Steve closes his eyes and tightens his grip on himself, a stupid smile still painted across his lips.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” He teases, his breath hitching as he touches himself.

Steve can hear the wet sound of Bucky’s hand sliding up and down his own cock and it makes his stomach bottom out in the strangest way. He moans softly and Bucky gasps in response.

_“Wish I could see you. Bet you look so good like this.”_

And Steve wonders why this feels okay, why he doesn’t feel like a fool for doing something like this with someone he has only met once. But Bucky’s choked off moans are the hottest sounds Steve has ever listened to and he begins to stroke himself faster, smearing the precum leaking from his tip along the head and down the sides. 

_“What are you thinkin’ about? You thinkin’ of me, Stevie?”_

Steve nods, his head moving against the mattress.

“Yes…” He pants softly, one hand still pressing his cell to his cheek.

Bucky moans again and Steve lifts his hips off the bed, pulling down his pants to give him better access to himself.

_“What about me? What are ya thinkin’ about?”_

Steve laughs breathlessly and rolls his eyes.

“Your mouth. I wish…I wish I’d let you kiss me.” 

_“Plenty of time for that. Only another three months before I get my R &R.”_

Steve groans and smiles into his pillow.

“You forgetting that I’m in the army too, Buck?” he teases, his voice muffled by the fabric of the pillow.

_“I’ll visit…ah…wherever you’re stationed.”_

Steve ignores him and lets his breathing become more erratic as he nears his orgasm. Bucky’s harsh panting is the only sound that fill the room and when he finishes, he whispers Steve’s name. 

_“Come on, Stevie, make some noise for me. Come on, dollface.”_

Bucky’s words coax a groan out of his mouth and when Steve climaxes, he moans, low and deep and hungry. His body tenses as he finishes and once he has cum, he lays down on the bed, boneless and breathless.

_“I usually last much longer than that, just so you know.”_

Steve laughs and drops his sticky hand to his face, sighing softly as he catches his breath.

“I’ll hold you to that.” He teases. “When you come and visit me wherever I’m stationed.”

Bucky chuckles warmly and when he speaks again, Steve can hear sleep creeping into his voice.

_“I’ll call you again on Saturday. Wear something pretty.”_

Steve smiles against his pillow and nods.

_“ Night, Buck.”_

 

 

.

 

The Syrian heat is just how Steve remembers it. It burns with intensity and stings sensitive skin. The smell of explosives and engine oil hits him as soon as he steps out of the cool, air-conditioned jeep. The SEAL base isn’t too far from Damascus and so the surrounding landscape is more than just the sloping, sandy hills that Steve was used to. He pulls his sunglasses on and begins to unload the jeep, Sam whistling tunelessly by his side. Sam inhales deeply and lets out a low, breathy laugh.

“Ah, the smell that haunts my dreams, how I have missed you!” he declares dramatically.

Steve pats him on the shoulder as he passes him with an armful of equipment and throws him a smile over his shoulder.

“Try not to dwell on it.” He advises him. “Sometimes it’s easier to pretend that you’re on vacation.”

“Well, you’re not, I’m afraid, Captain Rogers.” 

Steve spins around at those familiar, clipped tones and drops the equipment in his arms as he sees Peggy standing there, her bright red lipstick glinting beneath the heat of the Middle Eastern sun. He races over to her and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in for a gentle yet enthusiastic hug. He could hear Sam’s laughter behind him and when he pulls away, he sees that Natasha has joined them, her Special Activities Division badge pinned to her chest. 

“Where’s my hug, Rogers?” She deadpans, not expecting it when Steve lifts her from her feet and holds her tight against his chest.

He puts her back down and grins at them both happily.

“I take it you missed us then.” Peggy teases as she pulls at her rumpled blouse.

Steve laughs sheepishly and scratches at the back of his neck uncertainly.

“Was it…was that a bit much?” he asks as he bends down to recollect the equipment he dropped earlier.

The sparkle in Peggy’s eye tell Steve that she’s pleased but she nods regardless, her lips pursed together in mock disapproval.

“Highly unprofessional.” She comments.

“Good thing he’s not a professional, then.” Sam quips as he joins them. “I’d give you both an equally over-excited hug if I wasn’t such a huge physical disappointment compared to Rogers.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and gives Sam a fond smile.

“Wasn’t it you who once told me that we should embrace our differences and celebrate diversity?” she challenges.

Sam raises his eyebrows and begins to make his way towards the SEAL base.

“As the only African-American in my platoon, Romanoff, I thought it wise to adopt that as my motto.” He throws over his shoulder.

Natasha laughs and Steve feels his cheeks warm when Peggy places her hand on the small of his back and smiles up at him sweetly, her eyes sparkling beautifully beneath the Syrian sun, the touch of a tan already colouring her face.

“I missed you, too.” She whispers before letting go and following Natasha.

 

.

 

The Commanding Officer of SEAL team 3, Brock Rumlow, was not a man to be messed with; Steve and Sam gather that much quickly. His files are precise and accurate and his information is up-to-date and streaming constantly from an earpiece he wears dangling around his neck.

“These guys are not messing around.” He explains as he leads them through the base. “They mean business and they fight with a kind of brutality that is both disgusting and admirable.”

Sam raises his eyebrows at this but remains silent, elbowing Steve surreptitiously when he feels as if the Captain’s attention is waning.

“We’ve lost men, good men to this battle. The rest of the world is too afraid to act, terrified of the consequences of action but not understanding the detrimental effect of inaction.” Brock declares. “The team I’ve put together are my best men. They’ve fought against some of the toughest enemies this world has seen and they still come back for more. They want to be of service, so use them.” 

Steve nods. He’d already heard of the talents that SEAL team 3 possess, the most talked about being their nameless sniper who supposedly had more kills accredited to him than any other man in history. They step inside a cabin where a group of men have their back to them, their chatter and laughter loud and carefree, something that Steve always found strange in a place like this.

“Attention!” Rumlow barks and the men leap to their feet.

They form a single line quick and efficiently, their backs straight and their faces turned towards the eastern window. Rumlow nods at them and tells them to stand at ease, which they do uniformly and like one being. Sam gives an impressed little cough as they wait patiently to be introduced.

“This is Clint Barton.” Rumlow begins. “He’s the best EOD on this side of the world.”

“On the other side, too.” Clint adds with a cheeky grin.

Steve nods at him and extends his hand for him to shake. 

“Our next man here is Montgomery Falsworth, he’s our Communicator.” Rumlow continues, moving up the line with speed.

Sam shakes his hand and Steve follows Brock, slowing down slightly as he takes in the next face. He feels his jaw grow slack and his mouth run dry as he faces Bucky, the younger man watching him with a mischievous twinkle to his eyes.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard of this one. His reputation exceeds him.” Rumlow snorts, patting him on the back as he goes to the next man.

“Bucky.” Steve says softly, his cheeks flushing slightly as he says his name.

“Best sniper in the American army.” Rumlow explains with a slight eye-roll.

Steve doesn’t extend his hand, hardly able to believe his eyes or his luck. There is a giddy flutter in his stomach and he allows himself a small smile.

“Nice to meet you.” He mutters quietly, moving to follow Brock to the next soldier.

“Thought I told you to wear something pretty.” Bucky breathes as Steve passes him.

Steve freezes for a moment before glancing at him playfully.

“What? You don’t like the suit?” he teases softly as Sam shakes Bucky’s hand, a confused look on his face as he watches the two of them.

Bucky smirks and shakes his head.

“No, sir. I like the suit, sir.”

Sam lets go of his hand and gently pushes Steve away, the hand on his arm firm and urging him onwards.

“Do I even want to know?” he hisses as Rumlow begins to introduce their new Breacher.

“I’ll explain later.”


	2. Two

“You wanna maybe tell me what all of _that_ was about?” Sam asks as they step out of the S.A.D. tent and begin to make their way over to the SEAL base. 

The Middle Eastern sun was high in the sky and the heat beating down on their necks was almost too familiar to Steve, making him rub at the warm skin absent-mindedly. The gravel and sand crunches beneath their boots and counts the beats it takes for Steve to answer.

“Remember the guy I told you I met at a bar? That’s him.” Steve explains sheepishly.

Sam’s eyes widen and he gives Steve an impressed look.

“That’s Mr ‘We-Should-Jerk-Off-Together’? He’s not a bad looking kid, if you’re into Edward Cullen-lookalikes.” Sam offers generously.

Steve snorts out a soft huffing sound and steps into the tent. His own team have already been debriefed by Rumlow’s people and he can see that the men have already separated themselves into their appropriate groups. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Peggy speaking with the Communicators in that swift, efficient manner of hers whilst Natasha was speaking in Arabic to someone on her comm. 

“Where are we off to first?” Sam wonders as he stops beside Steve, his eyes fixed on a large map of the area mounted opposite them.

“I’ve already chosen a team of six of your men to patrol Damascus, help them familiarise themselves with the area.” An all too familiar voice announces from behind them.

Steve rolls his eyes and glances over his shoulder, giving Tony a small, begrudging smile.

“You’re not even military.” He points out reasonably.

Tony’s smirk widens and he shrugs helplessly.

“But I act and look important, which is all you really do too, _Captain America_.” He teases, patting both Sam and Steve on their backs.

Steve ignores him with a good-natured grin and steps aside in order to allow Tony to stand in between them. Sam beams at the smaller man, a bright twinkle in his dark eyes.

“You actually order our boys around?” he demands excitedly.

Tony waves his head dismissively and shakes his head.

“Of course I haven’t.” he sighs. “They were too starstruck when they met me to take anything I had to say on board anyways. Rumlow put a team together and they’re leaving for Damascus in a few.” 

Steve gives Sam a knowing look.

“We should probably-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam cuts across him with a bemused snort. “Let me grab my shit and I’ll get us a jeep.”

 

.

 

The landscape surrounding Damascus is barren. It looks like Iraq. It looks like Afghanistan and Pakistan and Iran and everywhere else that has lost itself to the grip and torture of war. The wind is gritty, the breeze lifting and carrying the sand. It makes everything appear aged and ancient, almost like some kind of lost world. The streets are empty, the buildings are crumbling and in the distance there is the sound of explosives. Steve feels as if he could have been anywhere. He feels uncomfortable; on edge, even though the threat was far from them, even though there were legions of men before them, protecting them. Steve knew that Sam could sense his unease but he was grateful when he didn’t comment.

“It’s suffered from a lot of air attacks, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” Rumlow explains from the backseat. “Both the Syrians and ISIS have demolished the city. It makes it hard for the Marines; the terrain is dangerous and difficult to manoeuvre. The sniper team has their work cut out for them.” 

“We’ve a great team.” Sam assures him. “Barnes will be well supported.

Rumlow scoffs and Steve catches a flash of his teeth in the rearview mirror.

“Barnes works alone, Wilson. He doesn’t do back-up, doesn’t like other gunmen flanking him. He’s happy that way and believe me, a happy Barnes is the only Barnes you’ll ever want to see.” Rumlow warns with a dark smirk.

Steve glances back at him and gives him a concerned look.

“That’s not how SEAL team 4 operates.” He tells him firmly.

“No.” Rumlow acknowledges, still smiling. “But that’s how SEAL Special Strike team works and you may be the _amazing_ Captain America but I’m the Commanding Officer of SEAL team 3 who has generously offered his best men to you. So, you’ll do it our way.”

Steve meets his eye and stares him down but forces himself to bite his tongue. He had learned long ago to choose his battles and right now, in Damascus beneath the roasting Syrian sun was not the best time to start an argument with a man he has just met. He gives a stiff nod before turning his attention back to the road ahead of him, the knots in his stomach after tightening considerably. Sam keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel but Steve can tell from his tight grip that he’s not happy either. Rumlow mutters something under his breath before leaning back in his seat, his dark eyes sharp and piercing in his reflection.

“I meant no disrespect.” Steve finally coughs as he rearranges himself in his seat.

Rumlow simply shrugs.

“Neither did I. I’m just letting you know how Barnes operates. He’s not the kind of soldier you wanna mess with, Captain.”

 

.

 

Tony is waiting for them when they return to camp, bouncing on the balls of his feet, an excited look on his face. Steve doesn’t question it; he’s known Tony long enough to know that he should just run with him when he’s in good humour like this. He allows him to usher him into his tent and he waits patiently as Tony rummages around in his lab, cursing to himself as he searches for whatever it is that’s gotten him into such good form. After a fruitless ten minute search, he just shakes his head and gives Steve a defeated look.

“I’m sorry. I found a picture of Agent Carter and-”

Steve holds up a hand to silence his friend and gives him a disapproving look.

“I told you to stop doing that. I don’t get the same kind of kick out of stalking that you seem to.” He sighs, shaking his head slowly.

Tony barks out a laugh and raises his eyebrows at Steve disbelievingly.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenges. “Is that why you keep that picture of her that _I_ gave you in your wallet?”

Steve flushes furiously and narrows his eyes at Tony.

“Have you been going through my things again?” he demands hotly.

Tony gives Steve an unimpressed look and folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the counter behind him. 

“I don’t need to. You’re transparent. And besides, how many times have you taken your wallet out in front of me and paid for a coffee or something? Everyone knows. _Hell_ , even Peggy knows.” Tony sniffs.

Steve feels his flush deepen and he shakes his head, refusing to believe what Tony was saying. He was not _that_ transparent. 

(Because if he was, surely Peggy would have made her move by now? The ball was in her court. It was always in her court.)

“There’s nothing for anyone to know.” Steve maintains firmly. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to debrief with Agents Carter and Romanoff.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Tony mocks as Steve turns on his heel. “Well, you pass it on to Agent Romanoff that I’ll _debrief_ her anytime she likes.”

 

.

 

“I’m not transparent, am I?” Steve asks around his mouthful of barbequed chicken.

Natasha sips her water carefully before shrugging.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” She decides. “But I can’t always tell what you’re thinking, no.”

Sam swallows his corn and narrows his eyes at Steve, waving his cob at him.

“Being transparent isn’t a bad thing. It’s a fucking breath of fresh air sometimes to know how someone is feeling and thinking without even having to ask.” He argues.

Natasha raises her shaped eyebrows in surprise and blinks at Sam.

“But where’s the fun in that?” She points out. “Why would you want to be around someone who doesn’t surprise you?”

“I don’t like surprises.” Sam says with a playful grin.

“Well, then, I think you’re in the wrong job, Wilson.” Natasha drawls out, a smirk tweaking at the corners of her plump mouth.

Steve swallows his chicken violently and looks between his friends desperately.

“I can be surprising.” He exclaims. “I can be spontaneous and unexpected and-”

“This seat taken, doll?” Bucky interrupts, a shit-eating grin on his face as he slides into the seat next to him.

Natasha watches him with interest as he settles himself in, his brow sweaty and his face gritty. He’d obviously just returned from his patrol. He looks tired but he offers Steve a bright smile regardless. And Steve can’t help but grin back around the rim of his plastic cup.

“Sam.” Sam says as he introduces himself. “And that’s Natasha.”

Bucky reaches across and shakes Sam’s hand firmly before doing the same with Natasha, his smile even wider as he takes her in.

“Romanoff? From S.A.D?” He asks as she nods. “I’ve heard all about _you_. Clint’s a huge fan of your work.”

There’s something in his playful tone that makes Steve’s stomach flip in anticipation and when he glances at Bucky, the younger man meets his gaze before licking his lips and taking a bite of his burger. Natasha is smiling at Bucky knowingly, her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“You’re the sniper with an attitude problem, aren’t you?” She retorts. “You don’t have many fans in S.A.D.” 

Bucky chuckles through his mouthful and tilts his head to the side, an adorable smile on his face.

“I don’t want fans.” He declares after he swallows. “Captain America is here for the public’s adoration; I’m here for the public’s safety.”

It’s a slight dig at Steve but he doesn’t allow it to register. He’s too busy staring at Bucky’s slick lips, too busy watching the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as he chews. Steve thinks he’d like to kiss him now if he could. Even sweaty and dirty, Bucky was beautiful. He reminds Steve of that night in the bar, the flushed heat of Bucky’s cheeks as he danced, the way his t-shirt rode up tantalizing, allowing Steve a peek at the tanned flesh hidden beneath. He swallows his own mouthful and lets out a soft sigh, dragging his gaze away from Bucky’s profile to Sam’s eagle-eyed gaze.

 _Transparent_ , he mouths.

 

.

 

Steve doesn’t need to ask who’s followed him into the shower room. Bucky had followed him as soon as Steve had stood from the table in the canteen and said he was going to wash up. Bucky didn’t even finish his meal. He had jumped to his feet and followed Steve like a shadow through the canteen and across the sandy paths that led them towards the shower rooms. Neither of them had said anything but Steve could feel the prickle of his gaze on the back of his neck, hotter than the sun that had darkened his skin earlier that day.

The showers were empty. It was meal time. Most of the teams were taking a well-deserved break and enjoying the hour that was allocated for food. Steve feels nervous but he tries not to let it show. He has his shower things gathered under his arm like he normally would and he places them down by his cubicle before stripping down. He wonders if Bucky can hear the dramatic thumping of his heart but when he glances beside him, he sees that Bucky is already naked and his heart just _stops_.

(Because Bucky’s skin is so far from the perfection he had imagined. It is covered in scars and riddled with holes and yet it is beautiful; a glorious map telling the story of his life.)

Bucky casts a questioning look in his direction before stepping under the shower head in Steve’s cubicle and releasing its spray above him. The water pours down his dirty face and when he grins at Steve, he looks mischievous and impossibly young.

“You gonna join me or just stare?” he demands as he bends down to reach for his own soap.

Steve swallows as he undoes his belt and he gives Bucky an uncertain look.

“Seems awful fast to be sharing a shower with you.” He points out as he kicks off his trousers.

Bucky laughs and shakes the water out of his shining face.

“We ain’t gotta touch, doll. I just want to talk to you. I ain’t got no-one to call now that my sweetheart is here.” Bucky explains as Steve steps into the cubicle.

The cubicle isn’t big but they fit easily enough. Bucky is true to his word and the shower is innocent and yet it is one of the most intimate things Steve had ever experienced. Bucky spoke the entire time, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face, never roaming his gaze along his body even though Steve can’t pay him the same respect. He can’t keep his eyes from Bucky’s hard stomach or dark nipples. It’s not even that he is aroused; he is simply curious. When he reaches out and trails one finger along the length of a scar on his chest, Bucky doesn’t flinch. He just watches Steve with a slow, easy smile and takes a step closer.

“You gonna let me kiss you?” he murmurs softly, looking up at Steve through wet eyelashes.

And Steve _wants_ to. He wants to shove Bucky against the shower wall and kiss him until he’s breathless, until he wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and lets him fuck into him but Steve still doesn’t know what this is. It’s hot and it’s dangerous and it’s so far from anything that Steve has experience with that he doesn’t know how to proceed. Steve is no virgin. He has been with both men and women but he’s never met someone like Bucky. 

(And there was Peggy to think about, of course.)

Steve’s hesitation doesn’t face Bucky and when he leans closer, Steve can’t resist. He follows Bucky’s mouth slowly, almost reluctantly and when their mouths meet, the heat of it jolts through Steve’s skin, warming every inch of him. It’s an innocent kiss; closed mouthed with inches between their bodies but when Bucky pulls away, Steve chases his lips hungrily, desperate to deepen it. Bucky doesn’t let him, though. He laughs quietly against Steve’s mouth and presses another closed kiss to his lips. 

“You’re a good girl.” He reminds him, placing one hand on his chest and gently pushing him away. “And my Ma always taught me to treat the good girls well.” 

Steve allows Bucky to push him away, sucking in his own bottom lip and smiling at Bucky uncertainly.

“Even good girls have wants, Buck.” He teases softly.

Bucky’s hand moves down Steve’s chest slowly and he smirks up at him, his stormy eyes darkening slightly.

“Don’t you worry about your _wants_ , Captain. I’m gonna take care of them.” He promises in a hot, velvety voice. “Just not now, not here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Please let me know what you think, i'd love some feedback!


	3. Three

“Steve?”

“Hey, _Steve_?”

“Steve, man…are you jerking off?”

Steve inhales sharply and his hand stills on himself, his heart hammering against his chest. His silence is heavy with guilt and when he cracks an eye open and turns his head to the side he can _just_ make out Sam grinning at him.

“I never interrupt you.” He replies sullenly as he feels his erection begin to soften.

Sam’s quiet laughter mocks him and Steve can feel his cheeks flushing terribly.

“You _never_ jerk off.” Sam marvels. “What’s gotten you all hot and bothered?”

Steve shifts in his bed slightly and pulls the comforter further over his face. He didn’t want to get into this with Sam now, didn’t want to tell him that he can’t stop picturing Bucky’s wet, naked body pressing him against the shower stall. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“I’m trying to sleep.” Steve says sullenly.

Sam laughs again and Steve can hear him moving around on his mattress.

“Aw, just wait until I tell Nat… You missin’ Peg? Is that it?” he teases.

Steve makes an impatient sound and throws himself on to his other shoulder so that he could offer Sam his back.

“Sam, shut up.” He snaps, his cheeks burning now. “It’s got nothing to do with Peggy.”

There is a pause and then Sam lets out a low whistle.

“It’s Barnes, isn’t it?”

Again, Steve’s responding silence is telling and he hears Sam cluck his tongue against his teeth.

“You got it bad, huh?” He sings. “Alright, I’m gonna leave it now but Nat still hears about this. This stuff is _gold_ …should have gotten that on Snapchat.”

 

…

 

“You masturbate, huh?” Natasha comments drily as she hands over a closed Manila folder to Steve.

Steve shoots Sam a betrayed look before shrugging at Natasha.

“Yeah, Nat, I do.” He sighs impatiently. “Now, do you have anything important to tell me?”

Natasha smirks up at him before leaning against the coffee table behind them, folding her arms across her neat chest. She’s beautiful, Steve decides, in a way that terrifies him. She’s dangerous and strong and he has seen her take down men three times her size. She’s a different beauty from Peggy. Peggy is softer, just as dangerous, but softer in a way that Steve can’t explain. Natasha is sharp and edgy and way more than Steve thinks he could ever handle.

(She’s like Bucky, he thinks; almost animal in ways but achingly human in others.)

“This is classified information but Rumlow has appealed to override you in authority.” She says in a bored tone. “He was denied it but keep an eye on him and don’t let him step out of line.”

Sam frowns and gives Natasha a curious look.

“How come the S.A.D. gets this information but we don’t? It would have been internal request.” Sam points out.

Natasha gives him an amused smile before shrugging one shoulder casually.

“Who said anything about the S.A.D. knowing anything? I’ve got other sources, Wilson.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and tucks the folder under his arm, nodding his thanks at Natasha.

“I’ll read this later and thanks, Nat. For the heads up.” He says with a smile.

Natasha nods back at him and straightens up, pressing her comm to her ear as she is obviously being relayed information.

“Don’t mention it, Rogers and hey, good for you. You go get yours.” She declares before turning her back on them and beginning to speak perfect Russian.

Steve’s cheeks only flush a little and he shoots Sam yet another hurt look as they exit the tent.

“You know, there was a time before all of this where I considered you a friend.” Steve says as dramatically as he can as they head over to where their men are stationed.

Sam chuckles and slings a friendly arm around Steve’s broad shoulders and Steve is violently reminded of each of the times he’d been forced to carry Sam just like this away from explosive and bullets and insurgents. His stomach flips a little and he glances down at his friend, who was beaming up at him, a thoroughly amused look on his face. 

“Man, if I didn’t tell Natasha and she eventually found out, she’d take us both down. I _have_ to offer her a little somethin’ every now and then to keep her sweet.” Sam explains.

“Why would she even care if I masturbate or not?” Steve demands as they duck into the SEAL tent.

Sam shrugs. 

“She doesn’t; not really. She just likes being kept in the loop of all of the embarrassing things you do.”

 

…

 

Jim Morita is probably one of the best navigators in the business and Steve would know; he’s worked with them all. Jim has saved his ass more than enough times and has put himself at risk by tearing through ridiculously dangerous terrain in terrifying territories. He’s a good man and a great soldier but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he _cannot drive for shit_.

(Which was ironic seeing as he has been promoted to lead driver for the platoon.)

Steve braces himself in the back of the jeep, his life flashing before his eyes as Jim barrels through the bustling streets of Damascus, loud heavy metal music blasting from the radio, his cigarette hanging from his mouth uselessly as he chews on the top. There’s no air-conditioning in the jeep and Steve can feel the sweat beginning to soak through the back of his uniform. Sam was gone with the Marines, flying overhead and scaling the city for threats whilst Steve had decided to go meet with the Bomb Disposal Team who were currently dismantling an IED in a busy, metropolitan area of the city. The air inside the jeep is heavy and Steve wants to open the windows but because they’re bulletproof, he knows that that would defeat the fucking purpose.

(And sometimes, just sometimes, he _hates_ the fact that he is Captain America.)

“The rebels really fucked this place over, didn’t they?” Jim shouts over the racket blaring from the radio.

Steve’s stomach lurches as Jim narrowly misses running over an elderly woman and nods.

“Yeah. The place is in shit.” He sighs.

It could easily be home, he thinks. He can remember what Ground Zero looked like for months after the attack. The whole street looked like something from the Middle East. He can remember standing there and watching on helplessly as the dust filled his lungs and-

“We can’t go any further.” Jim declares as the jeep screeches to a halt. 

Steve is thrown forward in his seat and he grabs the back of the chair to steady himself as he squints through the grimy window to see a barricade of Marines blocking the road leading to where the IED had been spotted.

“Thanks, Jim.” Steve says as he opens the jeep door.

“No problem, Cap.” He shouts out the window before reversing down the street and knocking over a few bins in the process. 

Steve glances back and shakes his head before pushing his sunglasses down from his forehead and approaching the rooms.

“Mornin’ boys.” He greets as he steps past the blockade.

One of the slighter man steps forward and holds out a hand to Steve.

“Captain, we’ve been asked not to allow anyone any closer to the perimeter than is necessary.” He explains in a shaking voice.

Steve gives him an approving grin and nods.

“That’s true but I gotta catch Barton before he heads on with his day. I’ll keep my distance.” He promises before side-stepping the soldier and making his way down the street.

He always hated this part; the part where he moved past the blockade, the part where he was the only person allowed not follow protocol. He could see families cowering in their homes, down alleyways. It’s silent as he gets closer to where the Bomb Disposal Unit has set up shop. They’ve organised a controlled explosion and they’ve evacuated the public from the IED as far back as they think necessary. It’s not all that far back, Steve decides. If he squints just right he can see who he thinks is Barton in one of those goddamn suits and Steve wonders how he hasn’t dropped dead from the heat.

(Dropped dead full stop. How are any of them still alive?)

Steve waves as he approaches the jeep and even from a few feet away he can see the sweat that’s pouring down Clint’s face, can see how flushed his cheeks are. The rest of his team are leaning against the jeep, reporting back into their comms. They look exhausted and more than a little terrified but Clint looks _exhilarated_.

“Havin’ fun?” Steve asks as he comes to a stop beside him.

“Hey, if it weren’t for the fact that I could die at any minute this would be a dream job.” Clint sighs.

Steve rolls his eyes and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The sun was in the centre of the sky now and Steve could feel the bridge of his nose beginning to burn.

“Delighted to hear it.” He teases. “’Cause I’ve got another one for you. It’s not as straight-forward but Rumlow said you’re the best.”

Clint pulls a face and puffs out his chest in a mock show of pride.

“I’d love to, Cap, but my patrol is just about to finish and Agent Romanoff would personally kill me if I went over my designated hours.” He explains with a shrug. “You know, Rumlow works the BDU himself sometimes, I’m sure he could handle it.”

Steve twists his mouth and lowers his sunglasses to the end of his nose, giving Clint an amused look.

“It’s not until tomorrow. S.A.D. have information on an IED being placed to the west of Damascus. We haven’t located it indefinitely but when we do I want you to lead the team.” He orders.

Clint chews on the inside of his mouth before pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his face and nodding.

“Alright. Gimme a time and place and I’ll be there, Cap.” 

Steve claps him on the shoulder in thanks and goes to turn away when Clint steps forward with a knowing glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips.

“And some advice there, Cap, Barnes is on the top of that building to your left and just watched you walk through the blockade without so much as your cock in your hands for a weapon and I know, Barnes, man, and he is gonna be _pissed_.” Clint mutters in a low voice, away from the prying eyes of his colleagues. 

Steve glances to his left and looks up, even though he knows that he won’t see anything, not with a sniper as good as Bucky. He waves in the general direction and Clint whistles beneath his breath.

“You’re a brave man, Cap.”

(He’s not. But they don’t need to know that yet.)

 

…

 

“You’re a dumb fuckin’ hick.” 

Steve turns away from Peggy and Natasha slowly to face a red-faced, sweaty, dirty, _furious_ Bucky. Steve gapes a little before taking a step back, the tips of his ears colouring as he glances back at them nervously.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Barnes?” He asks calmly because they are in the S.A.D. tent and Steve doesn’t want to pull rank here but he will if he has to.

Bucky rolls his eyes and sniffs fiercely, his eyes a stormy blue colour as he glares at Steve.

“That stunt you pulled earlier in Damascus? Walking down that street like you were in the middle of Kansas or somethin’; it was stupid. I had my eye on several marks that had their eyes on _you_.” He snaps.

Steve watches him wordlessly before he frowns and nods at the documents in his hands.

“I need to debrief with Agents Carter and Romanoff but-”

“Uh huh, well you debrief away there Captain and make sure to tell them how you broke protocol, put yourself at unnecessary risk and then revealed my position when you waved like a _dumb fuckin’ hick_.” He growls before folding his arms across his chest and watching Steve with a challenge in his eye.

(And a spark; the kind of spark that made Steve’s stomach flip.)

“Captain, I think you should probably take this outside.” Peggy mutters, placing one hand on Steve’s elbow and pushing him towards Bucky.

She was right, of course. There were people watching them now and giving Bucky disapproving looks and so Steve steps closer to him as he nods at Peggy and Natasha and the unimpressed look on Nat’s face tells him that he’ll pay for this later. He leads them out of the tent and down past the SEAL tent, over towards Steve and Sam’s quarters. Bucky is practically vibrating by his side, his lean body taut and tense as he steps inside Steve’s room. The moment Steve has the door closed; Bucky is on him, a deadly snarling escaping his mouth as he crowds Steve against the wall.

“You tryin’ to hurt yourself or are you just plain stupid?” he demands between hot, wet kisses and Steve doesn’t know why Bucky’s touch is so desperate but he’s not about to complain.

He doesn’t answer; couldn’t anyway, not with how Bucky was kissing him, his hands hard pressed against his hipbone. These kisses are nothing like the one they shared in the shower; they’re open and wet and sloppy and when Steve groans softly, Bucky’s hips jerk against him involuntarily, causing them both to gasp. The soft sound is enough to snap Bucky out of whatever fury had consumed him and their kiss turns to something softer. Steve doesn’t want him to but Bucky pulls away too soon and takes a step back, his hands still resting on Steve’s hips.

“You scared me.” Bucky admits quietly after a moment.

“I…sorry.” Steve mutters.

(And he knows he’ll have to apologise to Sam, to Natasha, to Peggy too.)

Bucky exhales and shakes his head, his blues eyes milkier now as he looks over Steve’s shoulder.

“Don’t do it again.” He warns him. “I catch you doin’ it again, Rogers, and this is over.”

(This? What is this? Steve still doesn’t understand.)

But the threat makes Steve’s heart lurch and he shakes his head.

“I won’t.” He promises and he leans closer, chasing Bucky’s mouth hungrily because now that he’s truly tasted him, Steve doesn’t know if he’ll ever get enough. Bucky turns his face away though, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he gives a tiny, imperceptible shake of his head.

“I smell like…” Bucky’s voice trails away and he shrugs before turning his head back to face Steve, a knowing smile on his face.

“You look like a fuckin’ beaten puppy, Stevie. _Jesus_ , am I that good of a kisser?” he teases as his hands circle Steve’s hips and rest on his pert behind. 

Steve ducks his head again and presses an eager kiss to Bucky’s mouth, ignoring the small huff of laughter the shorter man breathes against his lips.

“I’m a good girl.” Steve pants into his mouth as his hands find their way into Bucky’s hair. “I don’t get kissed much.”

Bucky sucks on Steve’s tongue and makes him moan obscenely before pushing him against the wall again.

“You’re a damn liar.” He mocks. “I’ve heard all about you.”

Steve only groans in response as Bucky fingers begin to knead the flesh of Steve’s ass and _Christ_ , how long has it been since he’s felt like this?

“I want to fuck you.” He gasps around the slip and slide of Bucky’s tongue .

Bucky makes a grunting sound before breaking the kiss, his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed. 

“You say that to all the boys?” he challenges with a small smile.

Steve shakes his head.

“Only the dangerous ones.” He says shyly.

Bucky’s smile widens and he presses a sweet kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before dragging his own to Steve’s ear and licking at the shell of it before whispering;

“Good girl like you should probably stay away from a guy like me. I ain’t just dangerous, Stevie.”

Steve shivers and shakes his head.

"I ain't going anywhere."

And Bucky laughs lowly before burying his face in the crook of Steve's neck.

"Dumb fuckin' hick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter!
> 
> Inspired by the response so far but please, leave a comment or some criticism or some kudos and tell me what you think!


	4. Four

_It’s hot; too hot. The sun is the middle of a cloudless sky and when he looks up he is blinded. He rubs his eye but they feel gritty with sand and dirt and the heavy wind is blowing around them, whistling as it passes through the cracks of windows or half open doors. He’s thirsty. His lips are chapped and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. Beside him, Sam is curled into a ball, his hands clamped over his eyes and Steve can see that the bandages around his ribs are starting to come undone. They need to get to a hospital and they need to get there soon._

_“Hang in there, buddy.” Steve whispers, his voice cracking from lack of use._

_Sam doesn’t acknowledge that he spoke and if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Steve would think him dead._

_“We can’t wait much longer, Sergeant.” A young man pipes up. “They’re surrounding us.”_

_Steve glances towards Sergeant Reeves and sees that he isn’t listening. His eyes are glassy and he’s staring off into the distance. Steve’s hands are bloodied from tending to Sam but he reaches out to give Reeves a shake._

_“Sir?” Steve croaks. “We need to move.”_

_Reeves closes his eyes and begins to shake his head when the glass of the window above them shatters and a bullet whistles past Steve’s ears, grazing his cheek before passing through Reeves’ skull and showering Steve in blood and bone and brain and as the men around him begin to scream, Steve can smell piss and shit and he looks down and his pants are wet and-_

“Steve?”

Steve blinks a few times before the room settles around him and he looks up at Sam blearily, his heart still racing and his breathing still coming to him in short, desperate pants. Sam carefully takes a step back and he folds his arms across chest as he watches him. 

“You gettin’ them dreams again?” he asks as he moves back to his own bed, sitting on the edge and regarding Steve with a calculating gaze.

Steve shrugs as he sits up and gives Sam a small smile. 

“Does it matter?” he challenges.

“You know it does.” Sam says sternly. “I think you should go back to Dr. Banner.”

Steve ignores him and rolls his stiff shoulders, feeling the sweat cooling on the back of his neck and forehead. He can handle the dreams; the dreams are _nothing_. 

(It’s the panic attacks he can’t handle; that horrible, drowning feeling of helplessness.)

Steve exhales slowly and kicks back his bed sheets.

“I’m going for a run.” He announces.

Sam gives him an unimpressed look. 

“At three in the morning? I don’t think even Captain America has the clearance to do that.” He argues but Steve has already begun to strip out of his sweat-soaked clothes and into his training gear.

“Sam, I’m just going for a run around the track; I’ll be back in an hour.” He promises before slipping into his runners.

And Steve doesn’t miss the look that Sam gives him.

(A look that tells him he remembers the last time Steve said he’d be back in an hour and returned with three bullets in his gut.)

 

…

 

Steve is two laps in when he’s interrupted. 

He spots the figure coming from a mile off and after a few seconds of observation he knows exactly who it is.

“I thought you were supposed to be a master of stealth?” he calls out breathlessly as Peggy makes her way across the track.

She just waves his comment away before falling into a rhythm beside him, her loose grey t-shirt riding up with every step. Steve grins at her and beneath the soft light of the Middle-Eastern moon, she is breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Having trouble sleeping?” she asks as they steadily make their way around the track.

Steve huffs breathlessly and shakes his head.

“I can’t remember the last time I _didn’t_ have trouble.” He quips.

Peggy hums as though she understands and Steve supposes she did.

(She has seen things too, has lost friends and hope just as much as Steve has.)

They enjoy the rest of their run in silence and the hour passes quicker than Steve expected it to. They fall to the grass after their exercise and look up at the cloudless, inky sky and Steve inhales deeply, the familiar tang of salt and sand and sweat making his chest feel tight. He turns his head to watch her for a moment and he is surprised to see that she is already watching him.

(And she’s perfect like this; unspoiled and innocent in the way she trusts him so readily.)

“I missed you, you know.” She tells him casually. “I wasn’t sure that you’d come back.”

Steve smiles slowly and snorts.

“I told you I would.” He reminds her with a laugh.

Peggy reaches out and laces their fingers together, her brown eyes shining as she smiles back at him and Steve wonders what she sees when she look at him at like that.

(Not a coward; not what he really is.)

“You also told me that you would _call_.” She scolds him playfully. “I suppose I was probably hoping for too much with that one.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but she rolls into his arms and silences him with a kiss. She tastes like the humid air around them; heady and suffocating and she kisses him with a tenderness that makes his lungs loosen and expand and gasp for more air. His free hand finds its way to the small of her back and he slips his hand beneath the hem of her t-shirt and spreads his fingers against her cool skin. She pulls away after a few moments of slick kissing and gives him a gentle smile, her eyes warm and fond.

“I’m not rushing you.” She tells him. “I know that you’re dealing with a lot of things right now but…but, when you’re ready, I’m here.”

And he reluctantly lets her go. He watches her walk away and there is strange throbbing in his chest and he can taste something bitter and vile on his tongue and so he turns onto his side and waits for the feeling to pass.

(He’ll never be ready; not for something as pure as Peggy.)

 

…

 

“Cap, you’re shield arrived today.” Tony announces with flourish over lunch. “I’ve had a look at it myself and it’s…it’s really fucking impressive.”

Steve sips his water and nods.

“Great, I’ll swing by after this and we can try it out before I head into Damascus with Peg”

“You’re not due to go into the field today.” Sam cuts across him. “Colonel Philips has issued that as a direct order. You and I, my man, have got combat training today.”

Steve shifts in his seat a little and gives Sam a searching look. It wouldn’t be the first time Sam had gone and begged Philips to ground him. Not after the last time Steve had suffered from night terrors. But Sam just looks back at him blankly and Steve knows it’s not worth the fight.

(Is anything worth the fight anymore?)

Natasha swallows her mouthful of rice and nudges her elbow against Steve’s ribcage.

“Rumlow and his troop are in today as well; you can show that dick what you’re made of.” 

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Commander Rumlow is a good-”

“For-nothing tyrant who keeps his soldiers in check through bullying and scare-mongering.” Tony declares. “He’s an asshole, Cap.”

Steve and Sam share a look before Sam breaks into a grin.

“Come on, don’t give us that _holier-than-thou_ shit. He’s a douche.” He laughs.

Steve just rolls his eyes and pops what’s left of his burger into his mouth.

“He’s just doing his job.” He insists with his mouth full. “He runs a tight ship, that’s all.”

 

…

 

“Rumlow is a _dick_.” Steve whispers as they watch him wrestle yet another one of his men to the floor.

He is relentless and unforgiving and he fights with the kind of hatred and resentment that chills Steve a little. He lands a roundhouse kick square onto Clint’s chest and the smaller man rolls to the ground with a groan, waving his hand as surrender. Thor Odinson steps in and places a hand on Rumlow’s shoulder. 

“Alright, Commander. I think you have proven yourself today.” He chuckles.

Rumlow shrugs the hand from his shoulder and takes a step back, his breathing hard and fast. He exits the fighting ring and takes a seat on the bench, draining his bottle of water in one. Thor scans the crowd for the next two opponents and smiles when his eyes land on Steve.

“Ah! Captain America, you have not showcased your skill set as of yet; come here and let us find you a worthy competitor.” Thor declares as the man around them cheer.

Steve winces as he gets to his feet and steps into the ring. Thor calls for a volunteer, even though Steve has done this enough to know that no one will come forward. No one wants to fight Captain America. They’re all either too scared they’ll injure America’s Sweetheart or that he’ll injure them. It’s usually the latter. Steve is about to make moon eyes at Sam and beg him to come fight him when a hand shoots up from the troops watching them. 

“Sergeant Barnes!” Thor exclaims warmly. “Come here; come along. You are indeed worthy.” 

Steve bites back a smile as Bucky steps into the ring. His long hair is tied back from his face and his t-shirt hugs his impossibly lean muscles. He’s grinning openly at Steve, a spark of something stirring behind his eyes. Thor runs through the rules as usual and then vacates the ring and chimes the bell. In a flash Bucky has surged forward and he lands slap after slap in such a flurry of movement that Steve immediately has to fall back onto the defensive. Bucky’s moves are sharp and agile and as Steve tries to counter his attack, Bucky dips and dances away that seems almost familiar. The men around them are jeering and egging Bucky on and for a moment, Steve is dumbfounded. He moves mechanically; the defensive steps long engrained in his muscle memory playing out for him without much effort. He hopes that Bucky will tire himself but after three solid minutes of blocking and deflecting, Steve knows that much is not true. Steve tries to switch tactics and begins to try and lead the attack but Bucky never gives him an inch. He lands a particularly hard slap across Steve’s face and dances away as Steve sways a little; disorientated by his strength.

“Jesus, Bucky.” He gasps as Bucky swipes his legs under him and send him sprawling on his back.

He blocks his face from a rain of attacks from Bucky and flips them over so that he is on top. Bucky lets out a guttural sound as his hand slaps against the mat and Steve grabs his arms to pin them above his head.

“Where did you learn to fight like this?” Steve demands as Bucky tries to overthrow him.

(And his hips are jerking beneath him and Steve has to stop himself from grinding down to meet them.)

“Same place as you.” Bucky pants as he finally manages to flip Steve over.

Steve’s hands are still gripping his wrists and so they are chest to chest and hip to hip and Steve flushes when he feels Bucky’s hardness against him.

“You don’t fight like me; you fight like Natasha.” Steve argues as he pins Bucky’s hands by his side.

Bucky laughs and wriggles a little against him before straddling him and locking his thighs against his hips and forcing Steve to tumble backwards. Steve is surprised by the move and lets go of Bucky’s wrists. Bucky seizes this moment to strike and jabs Steve under his chin before knocking him backwards and wrapping his hands around his throat.

“You look so pretty like this.” Bucky purrs as Steve struggles beneath him. “Give up. Give up, Stevie before I make you cum.” 

He whispers the words and Steve is sure that no one else can hear. He’s still hard and Bucky is moving against him in a wicked manner and so he raises his hands to signal his defeat and the men erupt into cheers. Bucky rolls off of him with a wink and springs to his feet, offering his hand to Steve to help him up. Steve takes it and smiles at Bucky uncertainly; more than a little surprised by how good of a fighter he is. Bucky catches him looking and shrugs.

“What? This the first time _Captain America_ lost to an ordinary soldier?” he teases but there’s a hardness in his eyes that Steve doesn’t like.

(He’s seen in before; from men who didn’t trust him; didn’t believe in him.)

“No. Well, yes but Bucky…you’re no ordinary solider.” He breathes as Thor congratulates them on their fight.

Bucky simply shrugs again and turns away to head back to his seat.

“Like I said, they trained me the same place they trained you.”

 

…

 

“Barnes…he’s not just an ordinary SEAL, is he?” Steve asks Tony later on that evening.

Tony gives Steve a curious look before shaking his head.

“I have access to his files – okay, that’s a lie; I have illegally accessed his files but I’m not really sure if that is the kind of information I’m supposed to share with you.” He declares loftily as he swirls his whiskey around his tumbler. 

Steve snorts and gives Tony a disbelieving look.

“I’m not bugged or anything, Tony. Just tell me what you know.” He orders.

Tony sighs to himself and sits up a little straighter. 

“Three years ago, on his very first tour, he was captured and tortured by the Taliban, around the same time that you rescued your entire unit in Afghanistan. Anyway, he managed to escape and came straight back to his unit. They wanted to give him honourable discharge but he refused. He got better and the he got his revenge. He killed them all. Picked them all off one by one; kind of like what you did to those guys who got Reeves. So, Colonel Philips saw this as some kind of major achievement, just like yours, and he took him into the Super-Soldier programme just before you. They trained him, just like you but well…he didn’t want it.” Tony explains before he drains his glass.

Steve pauses for a moment as he allows his words to sink in and gives Tony a bewildered look.

“He said…he turned it down?” he asks.

Tony nods.

“Yep. Said he didn’t want to be someone else’s weapon. Not that you are one. That’s just how he saw it.” Tony says quickly.

Steve leans back in his seat and stares out past his friend, his eyes trained on the cabin he knew Bucky stayed in.

“He hates Captain America.” He whispers. “He thinks I’m some kind of…poser.”

“He thinks Captain America is a poser.” Tony corrects him. “He thinks Steve Rogers is brave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so im not sure how this is going?  
> Please tell me what you all think so I can get some kind of idea as to how people think it is.


	5. Five

The call comes at little past 0500 hours. 

Steve’s ready. 

(He hadn’t really been sleeping anyway.)

He’s already in his uniform as Sam wrestles himself into his. 

The Damascun sun is already beginning to peak over the rolling sandy hills and it lights their room in a way that reminds Steve of stuffy dorm rooms and young, carefree laughter. His chest tightens in that terribly familiar way of his and he gives Sam a small smile as his friend straightens up from tying his boots.

“You look like somebody died.” Sam scolds him with a playful smile.

“Not yet.” Steve manages to tease.

(But they _could_.)

Steve knows his anxiety is rolling off of him in waves and he lets his eyes fall shut when Sam presses their foreheads together.

“This isn’t Afghanistan.” Sam promises him quietly. “We’ve been through that _Hell_ and we’ve come out the other side, brother. We’re gonna be fine.”

Steve nods against him and exhales slowly, a strange smile breaking its way across his face.

“We’ll be fine.” He echoes.

Sam winks at him and grins, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“See you on the other side, partner.”

 

…

 

They ride to their destination in silence, the bumpy terrain of the burnt red mountains making Steve’s stomach flip and turn. Sam has gone ahead in the helicopter with some of the medics. Natasha is sitting opposite him in her bulletproof vest, relaying co-ordinates to Morita who follows them skilfully. She keeps glancing at him; keeps searching his face for some kind of answer that Steve doesn’t want to give so he avoids her eyes. Clint is beside her, listening to some obnoxiously loud Green Day. He seems calm, his eyes closed and a small smile twitching at his lips. Steve supposes that the best bomb disposer in the business would have to have some kind of calming ritual. Steve decides to watch Bucky instead of focusing on the fact that they are getting closer to their destination. Bucky’s eyes are fixed on the floor between them, his left fist clenching and unclenching slowly. His full bottom lip is between his teeth and keeps pressing down on it, causing the lip to grow plump and red.

(Steve wants to kiss him.)

They haven’t spoken since the wrestling match and when Steve offers him a small smile, Bucky doesn’t return it. The armoured van begins to slow to a stop and Bucky and some man named Dugan are the first to be dropped off. Steve feels his stomach turn even further as he watches Bucky sling his bag over his shoulder and climb out of the van. He leans forward to hand Bucky one of his holsters and looks at him with round eyes.

“Be careful, Buck.” He whispers softly, unable to keep the anxiety from his voice.

Bucky glances at him over his shoulder and there is something in his eyes that softens them slightly. They are still hard though, as he blinks at him and gives him a tight nod.

“I’ll be fine, Captain.”

(And Steve pretends that he doesn’t notice the way Natasha watches him as he leans back into his seat.)

 

…

 

Steve doesn’t breathe for the next hour, not properly, at least. He takes deep gasping breaths and he keeps the finger on his gun steady as he patrols the perimeter with Sam. The IED is dismantled without a hitch. Clint and Rumlow come back safe and Steve feels as if it’s too good to be true.

(Because they were told that this would be dangerous; that this device had been planted as close to the American base as possible.)

It’s Sam who signals everyone to come back to the tank and Steve slings an arm around his shoulder as they march alongside Clint and Rumlow. Rumlow is drenched in sweat and he rubs at his dripping bangs dramatically.

“Never seen anything like that one before.” He comments as they trudge down the sand dunes. “They’re getting bigger and better all the fucking time.”

Clint flashes him a winning smile and a small wink.

“Yeah, but they’ll never beat us, Brock.” He tells him confidently. “We’re the best in the business.”

Sam nods in agreement and offers Clint a high-five.

“Damn _straight_ , Barton.”

Rumlow doesn’t seem convinced and Steve doesn’t want to dwell on that and when they reach the tanks, he immediately sets out to find Bucky. He finds him around the back of one of the tanks with a cigarette in hand, his hair pushed back from his face and his cheeks grubby. Steve can’t help but beam at him; feeling much lighter and happier without the leaden anxiety weighing him down.

“I didn’t do anything stupid.” Steve tells him as he leans against the tank beside him.

Bucky smirks around his cigarette and nods.

“I noticed.” He comments drily. 

And Bucky’s eyes are much softer now, an almost milky look about them. He drops the cigarette and stamps on it with his boot, exhaling slowly and leaning a little closer to Steve, a small smile curling his mouth upwards. 

(He’s beautiful, Steve decides.)

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Bucky mutters, one finger trailing along the inside of Steve’s forearm. “I was wound up pretty tight. Didn’t really know what to expect out here.”

Steve nods, his head hanging lower, moving closer to Bucky’s. 

“It’s okay.” He tells him softly. “I’m sorry about the wrestling match. I obviously said something to offend you.”

Bucky tilts his chin upwards so his face is turned towards Steve’s and he licks his lips slowly.

“You didn’t. I’ve just got a chip on my shoulder.” He laughs quietly and he’s so close now that Steve can practically taste his cigarette and he lets his own hands settle themselves on Bucky’s hips and he draws him closer, grateful for the small bit of privacy that the tanks allowed them and he lowered his mouth to Bucky’s-

_crack_

_crack, crack, crack_.

 

…

 

Steve is rooted to the spot for all of two seconds before he throws himself in front of Bucky and tries to shield them both from the bullets raining across the blood red sky. His blood in pounding in his ears, a _shush, shush, shush_ sound and he can feel his heart throwing itself against his ribcage. Bucky’s fingers are digging into his shoulder and it’s only when he forces himself to focus on Bucky that he can hear the litany of swear words spewing from his mouth.

“…the fuck off me, you stupid prick!” 

He’s snarling at Steve and it’s only then that Steve realizes his mistake. Steve falters for a moment and Bucky shoves him away, a furious expression on his face. He throws himself to the ground and crawls forwards, his rifle already gripped in his hands and Steve opens his mouth to apologise, to say _something_ when he feels a hand grab his shoulder and start pulling him away. He looks over his shoulder wildly and feels relief spread through him as he takes in Sam’s anxious expression.

“Get into the van, Cap.” Sam demands as he pulls Steve towards the armoured van.

The bullets are still raining down on them and he can hear the shouts of the men around them as they each jump into their respective tanks.

“Wait, Sam; _wait_!” Steve yells over the noise. “We gotta get Bucky!”

But Sam’s ignoring him and he’s hauling Steve into the back of a van where Natasha is speaking frantically in Russian and Clint is yelling co-ordinates at Morita.

(And Steve feels like he’s losing his mind. He feels like he’s back in that mud flat in the middle of nowhere with nothing but half-dead men lying beside him and Reeves, Reeves mumbling and cursing to himself and-)

“Alright, we got Barnes, let’s go!” Dugan orders as Bucky flings himself into the back of the van. 

Steve immediately scrambles towards him, his hands flying everywhere, searching for some kind of life threatening wound and Bucky is still angry with him, Steve can see it, but he allows him to search and when Steve’s hands falter, Bucky nods at him.

“I’m fine.” He says quietly, wiping the sweat from his forehead as the hurtle down the steep mountain, the sound of gunfire beginning to fade into the background.

Steve exhales slowly and rocks back onto his heels, his heart rate beginning to slow. Natasha is speaking English again and when Steve looks at her, she gives him a tight smile.

“Successful mission.” She comments. “Only two injured.”

Steve exhales again and nods.

“Okay.” He mutters before finding his way back to his seat. 

“I’ll do the paperwork.” She continues. 

Steve glances at her. She shrugs.

“You look exhausted.”

 

…

 

Steve feels as if he could sleep for days but Colonel Philips wants to meet with him and by the time that’s finished, he has to debrief S.A.D.

(Not that they keep him long. Natasha is true to her word and has most of the paperwork covered.)

It’s a little past 1600 hours when he makes it to the canteen. The place is mostly deserted, save for a few soldiers nursing a coffee or a tea. Steve isn’t particularly hungry but he knows that if he doesn’t eat, Sam will nag. He sits alone, outside beneath one of the canopies. The unrelenting heat of sun is shaded slightly and Steve sips his water in peace, his exhausted eyes slipping closed as he gives himself some space to think.

(And he thinks of Reeves, thinks of how if he had _only_ told him to move sooner…)

“You’re gonna spill that water on yourself.” 

Steve opens his eyes and glances up at Bucky slowly.

“I was just thinking.” He tells him quietly.

Bucky doesn’t sit. He remains standing, a curious look on his face.

“You look like shit. You get any rest?” he asks.

Steve shakes his head.

(No rest for the wicked.)

Bucky picks at the piece of bread on his tray and pops a bit in his mouth before shrugging.

“I was just gonna go take a shower. Wanna come with?”

 

…

 

Steve lets the hot water wash over him, his eyes closed and his face tilted upwards. His back is pressed against the cool tiles behind him and Bucky’s chest is pressed against his, his hands working their way through Steve’s hair. The shower room is empty and silent, save for the sound of the water pounding against the tiles by their feet. Bucky washes his hair meticulously and pulls him back under the spray to rinse it away, his hands firm yet gentle.

“I’m sorry.” Steve tells him quietly.

Bucky shushes him.

“You’re Captain America, right? It was the kind of the thing you were trained to do.” Bucky mutters as he lathers himself in soap.

Steve watches the bar of soap slip and slide all over his body and swallows.

“I still shouldn’t have done it. You’re…you’re a better soldier than I am.” Steve sighs.

(And it’s true. He’s braver and more selfless and strong in ways that Steve can’t even begin to imagine.)

Bucky snorts and presses himself against Steve to rinse away the lather he worked up.

“Stop being such a punk.” He says in a fond voice, one arm wrapping itself around the back of Steve’s neck. “You threw yourself in front of a storm of bullets for me; that was pretty fucking awesome.”

Steve blinks in confusion and glances down at Bucky uncertainly.

“But…” 

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I mean, I fucking _hated_ it at the time but I get it now. It was sweet.” He mutters as he leans up to places a slow, savouring kiss against Steve’s lips. “How many people can say their sweetheart has done that for them, huh?”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s mouth before deepening the kiss, his hands dipping below his hips at massaging the swell of his ass gently. Bucky exhales against his lips before pulling back slightly, an impossibly warm look in his eyes.

“Dumb fuckin’ hick.” He teases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've just been so busy lately!
> 
> Please share your thoughts/opinions/criticisms!
> 
> Much love and thank you for reading! xo


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little filler to mark the half way point!
> 
> a little taste of Bucky, kids

Inhale.

(1…2…3…)

Exhale.

(1…2…3…)

 _crack_.

Inhale.

Inhale.

Inhale.

(Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ )

“Perfect shot, Barnes.” Dum Dum drawls from beside him, lowering his binoculars and turning to offer him a small grin. “There ever gonna be a day when you miss?”

Exhale.

 _Exhale, Barnes_.

Bucky keeps his eyes on the man, watches his stillness, waits to see the dramatic rising of his chest as his lungs fill for one last, desperate breath. Seconds turn into a minute and it doesn’t happen. Bucky lowers his rifle and wipes the sweat from his forehead, shooting Dum Dum a tired look. 

“The day I miss is the day I die or one of our boys die.” He mutters, rolling over on his bed and grabbing one of the plastic water bottles beside them.

The water was horribly warm by now but Bucky was parched. He opens the lid with his hands only shaking slightly and drains the bottle in frantic gulps. He can see Dum Dum watching him but Bucky shoots him a glare and he quickly picks his binoculars back up and gets back to the task at hand. 

“He definitely dead?” Bucky asks as he throws the empty bottle into the corner of their cubby.

Dum Dum whistles lowly and nods.

“He’s gone, Sergeant.” He confirms.

Bucky clears his throat and nods to himself.

“Alright. Let’s head back then.”

 

…

 

“Another day, another kill, eh Barnes?” Rumlow jeers as he enters the bunk room. 

Bucky flips him off and ignores him. Rumlow is an ass, they all knew that. But he was the kind of ass a man could trust with his life and that’s what made him the best Commanding Officer Bucky had ever worked under. He throws his kit down by his bed and gives himself a moment. He sits on the edge of the mattress and he tells himself to _breathe_.

(Because it never gets an easier, no matter how much they tell him it will.)

In the bunk opposite him, Clint is lying down listening to music. He looks beat but he waves at Bucky regardless, a small smile lifting the downturned corners of his mouth. He removes an earphone and offers Bucky a tiny shake of his head.

“I had a shit day.” He tells him.

Bucky half-smiles and nods in understanding.

“Mine was pretty crap, too. I killed two people.” He says quietly.

Clint winces and holds out the earphone to Bucky.

“You wanna listen with me? I’ll put on that piano music you like.” He declares generously.

Bucky licks his lips before nodding and nodding and nodding and he climbs onto the bed beside Clint and the older man doesn’t comment when Bucky presses against his side and closes his eyes, desperately trying to block out the sights and sounds of the world around him.

(Because sometimes it’s _beautiful_ but most of the time it’s hell.)

“Sometimes I have to keep reminding myself why I’m here.” Bucky whispers, his eyes still closed and a peaceful look on his face.

He feels Clint nod against the pillow beside him.

“Sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not one of the ones who died.” Clint says quietly.

(Sometimes Bucky wishes he was one of the ones that did.)

 

…

 

Bucky didn’t join the army to _kill_. 

He didn’t want to go ‘shoot some ‘Raqi’s’, as some of his brothers did.

He was foolish and he was naïve and he believed, for some stupid reason, that he was actually protecting the American people. He wanted to be a protector. 

(But he’s a murderer, murderer, murderer.)

They told them over and over that they were fighting for freedom and Bucky believed them because he wanted to. He wanted to believe that he was fighting for something good, something that made the people at home proud but when he returned from that first tour and when he saw his mother’s face, that look of disappointment she so rarely wore when she saw him, Bucky knew that he’d been blinded.

(And by then it was too late, because they took something from him that he’ll never get back.)

They told him he was a _hero_.

That he was single-handedly changing the face of history and Bucky lapped it up because he wanted so badly to be _good_.

(“Captain America, Barnes. Imagine have a title like that. It says it all, really, doesn’t it? The Captain of the American people.)

They sucked him in with the promise of good and change and honour. And Bucky needed redemption, then. Needed someone to tell him that he had done the right thing. 

(“You avenged them. Avenged yourself. You’re a hero, James.”)

But he’s no hero.

Heroes do good and all Bucky has done is bad.

 

…

 

He spots Steve in the canteen that evening and even though Bucky is tired, he is like a moth to a flame and he makes his way straight over to him, ignoring his own SEAL team who call after him and tell him to sit with them.

He feels it the moment Steve lays eyes on him and Bucky can’t help but grin at the slightly flushed look on his cheeks as he sits down beside him. Romanoff and Wilson are sitting with him, as usual, and Carter is opposite him. Bucky likes Agent Carter. She’s a straight talking woman with a deadly shot. 

“Evenin’ folks.” He greets casually as he grins round the table.

Wilson nods at him, his mouth too full of food to communicate. Romanoff smirks and raises an eyebrow bit doesn’t comment. It’s Agent Carter who responds to him, a warm smile softening her handsome face.

“Evening, Sergeant Barnes. I hear you’ve had yet _another_ successful day.” She comments as she cuts up her chicken.

Bucky butters his bread and offers her a quick wink.

“Well, that depends on what you’d consider successful, ma’am.” He says charmingly.

A successful day in his eyes is one where _nobody_ dies. Not an American, a Syrian, an Afghani, and that hardly ever happened.

She watches him for a moment before nodding. 

“I suppose you’re right.” She allows.

Bucky’s grin widens.

“I usually am.” 

And that gets him a laugh.

It always does. The lovable, charming rogue; that’s what has helped him survive, helped him build himself a good circle of trustworthy friends and allies.

(Because nobody loves the guy who pisses the bed or tries to run from his own nightmares.)

Bucky takes a bite of his slice of bread and chances a glance at Steve and isn’t surprised to see that the man is already looking at him, a warm flicker of something dancing in his eyes and, _fuck_ if he’s not the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen.

(And this is dangerous because Bucky is falling and the last time he fell he barely made it out alive.)

“You look tired.” Steve says with a smile and Bucky grins because it’s becoming their code, their thing to say when they want to be alone together and Bucky never thought that he’d be lucky enough for something as good and as pure as this to happen to him.

“I’m exhausted.” Bucky laughs and the sound even surprises himself.

It sounds sweet and carefree and it reminds him of hot summers spent in cool summer houses in Vienna.

“Yeah, well, you’ve both had a real long day.” Wilson comments dryly. 

“Uh huh, I’m pretty beat myself.” Steve decides.

Peggy smiles at Steve fondly and rolls her eyes playfully.

“Is this your way of skipping out on paperwork again?” She teases.

And there’s something in the way they look at each other that makes Bucky realize that maybe he’s not the only one at the table who’s fallen for Captain America and when he accidentally meets Romanoff’s eyes, the slight quirk of her eyebrows and almost victorious smirk tells him all he needs to know. He glances at Peggy again and wonders if he’d win. She’s beautiful and smart and dangerous in ways that would excite and entice any man, or woman, for that fact. 

(He’d lose. He’d definitely lose if Peggy tried hard enough. Because she's good and she's pure and she's everything that Steve should want.)

Steve sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, giving Peggy a lopsided smile that makes Bucky’s chest feel tight.

“C’mon, Pegs. That’s not like me. I always do my paperwork. I just… let’s leave it until tomorrow, okay? Philips and Hill won’t ask for it until then.” Steve reassures her as he picks up his tray.

He turns to Bucky again and his smile is different now, hungrier.

“I’m headed back to mine if you wanna come? You said you wanted to see my new shield, right?” Steve asks.

Bucky bites down on his lip to smother his laughter and gets to his feet.

“Is your new shield _transparent_ , Steve?” Wilson inquires with an unimpressed look.

Romanoff snorts whilst Carter looks confused but Steve takes it in his stride.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.” He says dismissively before turning on his heel and marching out.

Bucky nods at the others before following him like a loyal lap dog and Bucky _swears_ that if he had a tail, he’d be wagging it right now. Once they step outside the canteen, Steve shoots him a mischievous grin before starting off in a sprint.

“Race ya!” He throws over his shoulder as he goes and it takes Bucky a second to respond but he _races_ after him delightedly, laughing breathlessly at Steve’s whooping.

Steve wins, which Bucky puts down to his unfair head start and when they get into the deserted shower room and once Steve has Bucky crowded against the wall of the cubicle with his lips on his neck, Bucky reaches up and tangles his fingers through Steve’s hair and pushes their mouths together hungrily, gasping into Steve’s mouth desperately; 

“I want you to fuck me.”

And Steve draws back far enough to look him in the eye, a careful smile colouring his face.

"I thought you'd never ask."

(And oh, boy. Bucky was wrong when he thought that _he_ was the dangerous one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheh...I think we can all guess what's coming in the next chapter *plays cheesy 70's porn music*


	7. Seven

Steve backs away from Bucky slowly and puts a little space between them. Bucky’s arms are still wound around his neck and he watches Steve with dark eyes, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth.

(And _Jesus_ , Steve has never seen anyone as beautiful as Bucky before.)

He licks at his own lips and trails one hand along the length of Bucky’s forearm, the warm spray of the shower still gently splashing against his back.

“Why you stallin’, Stevie?” He drawls pulling Steve closer to him again. “You gettin’ shy?”

Steve presses Bucky back against the wet tiles behind him and shakes his head.

“No.” He says confidently. “But we’re not doing this here.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows and he gives Steve a confused look.

“Where do you think we’re gonna do it? You forgetting that I bunk with ten other guys?” He teases, his hands falling from around Steve’s neck and gripping his hips instead. “Shower is the only place we got.”

Steve tilts his head to allow Bucky better access to his neck as he begins to press sweet kisses against his skin and hums softly.

“I only bunk with Sam.” He says simply. “And he’s on patrol tonight.”

Bucky stills and draws back, looking up at Steve with a spark of something unrecognisable in his eyes. He swallows audibly before flashing Steve a dirty smile.

“Well, why didn’t you say so, sweetheart?”

 

…

 

Sex with Bucky is like fighting him.

His kisses are rough and _filthy_ and when he sucks on Steve’s tongue, Steve lets out an embarrassing whine, his hips jerking against Bucky’s desperately. Steve’s bed is barely big enough for him but they somehow make it work and Steve is eternally grateful that his and Sam’s room is separate from the other’s because Bucky makes _a lot_ of noise. 

(And Steve chases his lips, swallowing every sound hungrily.)

There _is_ a power struggle of sorts and when Steve finally manages to flip Bucky and pin him down on the mattress, Bucky fights him tooth and nail; a huge, breathless smile on his face that Steve kisses away. 

“Come on, big boy.” Bucky pants into his mouth. “You gonna tease me all night, huh?”

“I don’t give it up easily.” Steve jokes between hot, open-mouthed kisses planted along the underside of Bucky’s jaw. 

Bucky wraps his long legs around Steve’s waist and urges him closer. Their hard cocks are trapped between their bodies and every movement sends dull sparks of pleasure to shoot through them. Steve drops one last kiss to Bucky’s shoulder before reaching for the lubricant he’d left out on his table-top. Bucky inhales sharply when Steve lifts his legs and places them on his shoulder’s instead, his blue eyes practically black with want.

(Steve doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, doesn’t understand why any God would bless him with this but he thanks them. He thanks them, he thanks them, he thanks them.)

He starts slow. Slow, long, deliberate strokes of his finger against the cleft of Bucky’s ass, his finger lightly trailing across his hole and Bucky is already twisting for more contact, his eyes boring into Steve’s as he does so. The first finger pushes in easily enough and Bucky lets out a soft noise as Steve begins to gently push it in and out. He doesn’t make Bucky wait long, can feel his impatience and so he slips in his second finger soon enough. He builds a steady pace of in, out, in, out and Bucky’s hips start to move with it, his cock pink and flushed, leaking precome onto his own stomach.

“More.” Bucky gasps as he pushes himself up on his elbows to watch Steve.

Steve licks his lips and nods, his mouth dry from watching his fingers disappear inside that beautiful hole. He carefully works his third finger in and Bucky makes a beautiful sound that Steve wishes he could record. His head tips backwards and he exposes the elegant column of his throat and Steve wants to sink his teeth in it. He picks up the pace, begins to curl his fingers to brush against Bucky’s prostate and Bucky is moaning now, his chest pushing up and his hips grinding down as he tries to get more. 

“Fuck me, come on, Stevie. Just fuck me. Please, please fuck me.” Bucky babbles, one hand reaching down to wrap itself around Steve’s wrist, stopping his movements. “I’m ready, sweetheart. Just want you now.”

Steve’s own aching cock twitches at his words and Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out and quickly rolls a condom onto his dick. He slicks himself up and lines up with Bucky’s hole. He glances at Bucky once before pushing in and bottoming out in one, controlled move. Bucky’s head drops backwards and he lets out a low, keening sound, his legs wrapping themselves around Steve’s waist and Steve has to take a moment to himself before moving because _fuck_ feels so good and Steve can’t remember the last time he’d done this properly. Bucky’s chest is heaving and when he looks back at Steve, he bites down on his lip and groans filthily.

“You feel so fucking good.” He pants before pushing back against him, spurring Steve on to move. 

Steve rocks his hips gently to begin with, just to frustrate Bucky enough to make him move harder against him. He smirks at Bucky when Bucky lets out an impatient snort and folds himself over him, bracing himself on one arm and pinning Bucky’s hands above his head with the other. He knows that Bucky could easily overthrow him if he wanted to but he doesn’t. Steve pushes their mouths together slickly before beginning to move in earnest; his thrusts strong and consistent and Bucky starts to groan into his mouth, egging Steve on even further. 

They move together in perfect sync and Steve can feel the heat in his stomach beginning to unfurl and so he lets go of Bucky’s hands and whispers; 

“Touch yourself.”

And Bucky reaches between them and strokes himself, talking nonsense as he does so, his eyes never leaving Steve’s and Steve’s movements become more erratic and Bucky’s groans get louder and Steve begins to grunt, his sweaty forehead falling against Bucky’s and he closes his eyes, hips snapping forward with awesome power and Bucky comes with a hoarse cry, spilling between them both and Steve follows immediately after, his orgasm strong and warm and Steve collapses against Bucky when he finishes, breathing heavily in his ear, his hole clenching around him.

“Can I now add myself to the small number of people who can say they’ve defiled a national symbol?” Bucky asks breathlessly, one hand pushing its way through Steve’s hair.

“You’re the first to defile me since becoming a national symbol.” Steve tells him quietly with a small grin.

Bucky is quiet for a moment before he drops a kiss to Steve’s sweaty brow.

“Really?" He mutters. "Am I the only one so far?"

And Steve smiles a dorky smile and pulls out, rolling onto his side to face Bucky better.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll be the only one ever."

It's meant to sound light and teasing but there's a softer undertone to it, a promise that he could be if he wants and Bucky's grin widens as he presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth.

"Hmm...I like the sound of that." he breathes.

 

…

 

Sam throws the door open much earlier than Steve would have liked, the sun already high in the sky and chasing away the comfort and darkness of night.

“Jesus. Did you jerk off an elephant in here? It smells like I just walked onto a porn set.” Sam exclaims as he charges around the room and pushes open the windows. 

Steve groans and folds his pillow over his face. 

“Sam, I’ve got another hour before I have to get up.” He complains, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Sam drags it away from his face and looks down at Steve in a scrutinizing manner before his eyes widen and he stares at Steve in a mixture of shock and horror.

“You fucked Barnes in our room, didn’t you?” He declares with one finger pointing and accusing.

Steve pulls his duvet over his face and lets out a soft moan.

“It’s too early for this.” He complains.

Sam yanks back the covers and Steve has no choice but to open his eyes and look up at him with what he hoped wasn’t a guilty expression. Sam’s reaction told him that he’d failed miserably.

“You fucking fucked him!” Sam exclaims. “I can’t…I don’t…I mean, good for you but what about Peggy?”

(Peggy. Peggy. _Peggy_.)

Steve keeps his face carefully neutral and shrugs one shoulder.

“I…” He begins but he finds that he has no idea what to say about Peggy. 

(Or do.)

He coughs awkwardly and tries to ignore the flush on his cheeks and Sam must take pity on him because he nods and gives Steve an understanding smile.

(And he does understand because he’s Sam and Sam knows Steve better than he knows himself.)

“Good for you, man.” Sam tells him honestly. “If…Either way, I support you, you know that. Whether it’s Barnes or Peggy, I’m on your side just…be careful, okay? I know you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Steve absentmindedly fingers the love-bite above his collarbone and nods.

“Thanks.”

 

…

 

“Where’s Jim?” Steve asks Rumlow as he climbs into the armoured jeep, eying the dark-haired man carefully.

Rumlow chews his gum obnoxiously and shrugs one strong shoulder. 

“S.A.D. wanted him. It’s just me, you and Barnes today, Captain. Is that okay?” He sneers and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever disliked another colleague as much as he dislikes Rumlow.

Rumlow is arrogant and cruel and has no respect for rank. He trains and controls his SEAL Team with brutality and whilst yes, they are the best SEAL team Steve has ever worked with, they are also the most violent. Steve has witnessed their ‘closed’ training sessions and target practice on live animals is something he refuses to condone. 

“Perfect.” Steve says politely as he locks his belt and he smiles when he looks up and sees Bucky marching towards them, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a pair of aviators covering his eyes. He salutes them before he slips into the back and when he does, the familiar smell of him makes Steve’s cheeks warm. Rumlow grabs the cigarette from Bucky’s mouth and puts it out on the dashboard before starting the engine.

“Fucking poison.” He explains when Steve shoots him a sidelong glance.

Bucky just laughs, draping one arm around the back of Steve’s seat and leans between them, a broad smile on his lips.

“More like it distracts you when you see me sucking on something.” Bucky teases and Rumlow barks out a humourless laugh. 

“Don’t speak like that in front of the Captain, Sergeant. Where are your manners?” 

Bucky pulls a face before giving Steve a sweet smile.

“Sorry, Captain.” He says innocently and Steve feels himself flush even darker when he meets Bucky’s impossibly warm gaze.

“I’ve heard worse.” He finally manages to say and Rumlow gives Steve a bemused look, the kindest look he’s offered Steve yet.

“That sounds like a challenge to me, Barnes.” Rumlow jokes and Bucky’s sweet smile turns to something much dirtier.

“Challenge accepted.”

 

…

 

It was a standard patrol.

It was a standard patrol until it suddenly wasn’t.

They drop Bucky off at his checkpoint. They patrol lower Damascus for a few hours. They meet with and support the Marines.

(And Steve thinks, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe things are going to get better.)

But then they drive back to Bucky’s checkpoint and he’s not there.

Rumlow tries to radio him and there’s no answer.

Steve crashes into his snipers nest and it’s completely empty and his heart in his mouth and his chest feels too tight and all he can think is _not today, not today, not today_.

(Because in a different world, in a place not unlike Syria, Steve almost lost Sam and Steve doesn’t know if he can do it again.)

Steve slowly makes his way back to the jeep, the mid afternoon sun burning the back of his neck and Steve unties the top of his Kevlar, sweat beginning to bead at his forehead and he doesn’t notice the small, dark-skinned boy watching him with wide eyes. The jeep is still waiting for him at the end of the street and Steve isn’t here, isn’t thinking about anything except Bucky when the boy steps in front of him.

“Captain America.” He says, pointing at the crest on Steve’s uniform and Steve stops and looks at him, his brow furrowed because the boy has a slip of paper in his hand and he’s holding it out towards Steve.

Steve slowly reaches for it and unfolds it slowly, his eyes never leaving the boy’s. This is American territory but it wouldn’t be unheard of for ISIS forces to have crossed into their border. He knows Bucky would kill him if he was here, standing in the middle of a deserted street allowing himself to be distracted by what could easily be a decoy with only Rumlow for back up.

_Sweetheart. Radio interference. Home._

Steve swallows and looks back up at the child.

“Who gave you this?” he asks quietly.

“Booky.” The child answers immediately.

And Steve could kiss him, could take the child in his arms and hug him until he has squeezed the breath from him. 

“I… _Shokran Gidan_.” Steve declares, bowing his head at the child before racing back towards the jeep.

He throws the door open and goes to tell Rumlow but Rumlow is listening to his comm and Steve can tell from his expression that whatever he’s hearing isn’t good news. So, he waits. He waits and watches and listens to one side of the conversation until Rumlow stops speaking and turns to give Steve a tight nod.

“They got our boys. 2 dead and Barnes is hurt pretty bad.” Rumlow says quietly and all Steve can suddenly hear is the _shush, shush, shush_ of his blood pounding in his ears. 

Rumlow’s mouth is moving but Steve hears none of it.

(Because this has happened before. He’s been here before and he can’t do it again.)

 

…

 

Natasha is waiting from them as soon as the pull back into base and Steve is running towards her before he can think of doing anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sam debriefing Rumlow, both of them watching him as he comes to a halt in front of Natasha, a panicked look on his face.

“Where is he?” he demands breathlessly.

Natasha holds up a hand to quiet him and watches him with careful eyes.

“Listen. He’s _fine_ , okay? He’s in Medical Two and he’s conscious and being a pain in the ass but-”

Natasha stops speaking as Steve goes to walk away and grabs his arm, her nails digging into his forearm.

“ _But_ , Rogers, you have to debrief Philips before you go see him.” She tells him firmly.

Steve shoots her an incredulous look and shakes his head.

“No way.” He snaps. “I’m going to see Bucky and then I’ll go talk to Philips. Just give me 10 minutes.”

Natasha shakes her head again and pulls Steve closer, a stern look on her face.

“You’re still on duty. You’re patrol doesn’t finish for another hour. Barnes is okay. Clint is with him. You need to act responsibly and give Philips and Fury any information that might help. Two men _died_ today, Steve, they blew up our communications system and I know that you’re upset but you’re a captain; act like one.” She orders. 

And Steve wants to shake her off, wants to rip the stupid uniform from him and walk out of Syria with Bucky in his arms but he nods instead and exhales slowly.

“Who…the men who died, who are they?” he asks quietly.

“Dugan and Smith. They’re families have been notified.” She sighs as she lets go of his arm for a second before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close for a hug.

“I was worried. When we couldn’t reach your comms…” She exhales shakily and places a chaste kiss beneath his gritty chin. “Peggy was beside herself. You might wanna check in on her, too.”

 

…

 

The debriefing takes _hours_ and Steve doesn’t saying anything, letting Rumlow do most of the talking. Philips and Fury keep pressing him for details keep pushing for more information and all Steve says time and time again is;

“Can I go see Barnes now?”

Because Rumlow covered their information within the first 10 minutes; they saw nothing. There was nothing out of the ordinary on their patrol except for the fact that there was radio silence over the comms; something that hadn’t concerned them at the time.

“It was a standard patrol.” Rumlow said for the hundredth time. “We didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

It’s Natasha who finally rescues them, knocking on the Secure Room door and telling Philips that they have the Israeli Minister for Defence on the phone. Fury dismisses them and Steve _races_ across base to where Medical Two is. He charges down the corridor, ignoring the nurses who call out after him and marches down to the medical wing. 

(He can taste blood in his mouth, horrible images flashing before his eyes.)

He steps inside to see Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed with bandages wrapped around his waist, some bruising discolouring the side of his face.

“Thought you’d stood me up.” Bucky teases with a small grin that causes him to wince in discomfort.

(And there’s a lump in his throat, threatening to choke him.)

Steve doesn’t care that there are other soldiers surrounding them, some of them significantly worse off than Bucky, he still collapses to his knees in front of him and buries his head in Bucky’s thigh.

(Because he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay.)

“They tell you I was dead or something?” Bucky laughs but it sounds hollow and when Steve looks up, he can see the tears in his eyes.

“What happened?” Steve asks hoarsely and Bucky shrugs, a frown darkening his face.

“They blew up the comms. We moved location because Dum Dum, he figured that something had gone down and that we were isolated and so I left a kid a note for you and Rumlow cause I figured it was just radio interference or something and…and…” Bucky swallows and gives Steve a faint smile. “Got ambushed, didn’t we? Whole lotta ISIS motherfuckers. I’m looking the Marines showed, otherwise I would have been gone, too.”

Steve lifts Bucky’s palm and presses a kiss to it, squeezing his eyes shut in a bid to stop the tears from falling.

(Because doesn’t want to imagine what it was like. Doesn’t want to imagine a scenario where Bucky didn’t return.)

“They got Dum Dum.” Bucky says breathlessly, one hand pushing its way through Steve’s hair. “Smithy, too. Both of ‘em fell like rag-dolls. Think I’ve still got some of Dum Dum’s brain in my hair.”

Bucky is shaking now and when Steve looks up at him again, there are tears pouring down his cheeks. Steve gets to his feet and steps out of Bucky’s touch to draw the curtains around them, trying to give them some kind of privacy. He returns and sits on the edge of the bed beside Bucky and drops a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“I’ll wash it.” He tells him quietly. “Once the nurse comes back, I’ll ask.”

Bucky nods, his gaze stuck to the floor, the tears still sliding down his cheeks.

“You know, Stevie, I gotta…I gotta just say something because all I could think today was that I was gonna die and I never would have told you that…that I think I love-”

“ _Steve!_ ”

Both Bucky and Steve jolt a little as the curtain around Bucky’s bed is thrown open and Peggy steps inside, flinging herself around Steve and pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. Steve holds onto her waist to steady her and tries to pry her away gently because Bucky…

(Bucky was going to tell him he loved him.)

“Steve.” Peggy scolds him as she pulls away, her beautiful eyes wide and round. “I was terrified that something had happened to you!”

Peggy flushes a little as she glances at Bucky and smooths down the front of her blouse but she stands there defiantly none the less, her chin tilted upwards determinedly. Bucky wipes at the tears on his cheeks and gives Peggy a weak smile.

“What? Do I not get the same welcome back?” he teases.

And Peggy’s face softens before she steps forward and places a warm kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, smudging a little of her lipstick against his lips.

“I’m so relieved your both okay.” She says gently, one hand still cupping Bucky’s cheek and Bucky bows his head and nods, his shoulders tight and hunched and Steve can hear him choking back his tears.

He glances up at Peggy with a lost look in his eyes and she nods, quickly understanding.

“Buck really needs a shower.” Steve tells her. “Would you tell one of the nurses?”

And Peggy, God bless her, nods and marches out purposefully, leaving nothing behind her but the lingering smell of her perfume.

(And Steve is reminded of hot nights beneath the Afghani moon where time seemed to stretch for days.)

Bucky lets out a sound between a laugh and a sob and straightens up, a tortured smile twisting his face.

“You’re…you’re not gonna make me finish that sentence, are ya?” He jokes faintly.

Steve pushes his hand through Bucky’s matted hair and shakes his head.

“Not if you don’t want to. But…I think I do, too.” He whispers.

The look of relief that washes over Bucky’s face makes Steve’s chest ache and when he presses their mouths together he can taste Peggy.

(And that leaves the bitterest taste on his tongue.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not turn out the way I wanted so I am so so sorry if you're as disappointed with it as I am!
> 
> Please, feel free to comment and concrit!


	8. Eight

Time passes differently on tour. It trickles by unnoticed until suddenly Steve realizes that he has been here five months.

(Six months since he met Bucky, five months since he arrived, two months since Bucky was shot.)

Bucky was shot just before his R&R came through and refused to take it.

(“Don’t have anything to go back for, do I? Not if you’re here, Stevie.”)

His wounds are still healing, yet another pattern of torn and ruined flesh to add to his already intricate masterpiece. The new scars are pretty and pink and Steve runs his tongue along them hotly, his large hands gently tweaking Bucky’s nipples, causing the darker haired man to squirm against him, his breaths coming in wet, noisy pants and Steve is grateful for the spray of the shower that tried to disguise their laboured breathing and muffled groans.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Bucky whispers, pushing at Steve’s hair and pulling their mouths together hungrily. “We don’t have all day.”

Steve grins against his slick lips and pins Bucky against the cool tiles. Bucky lets out an approving hum and allows Steve to hoist him up, wrapping his long, slender legs around his waist. His hands are still grabbing Steve’s hair and Steve laughs into his mouth when Bucky refuses to let him break the kiss.

“Strugglin’ to breathe here, Buck.” Steve gasps and Bucky reluctantly unlocks his fingers, a dopey smile spreading across his face as he watches Steve with half-lidded eyes.

(And something _pinches_ at Steve’s heart when Bucky looks at him like that, something that suddenly makes it impossible to breathe.)

Steve goes to duck his head but Bucky pulls his chin upwards, his sweet smile turning into something teasing, his familiar shit-eating grin colouring his cheeks.

“Aw, Stevie, you gettin’ shy on me?” He asks in a low voice, grinding his ass against him and Steve opens his mouth to answer when the shower-room door opens.

“Cap? S.A.D. are waiting for you in the debriefing room.” Sam calls out and Steve can hear in the smile in his voice. “You ready to come or…?”

Steve rolls his eyes and Bucky lets out a snort of amusement as he lets his head fall back against the tiles. Steve presses a kiss to the juncture of Bucky’s throat and lets out a frustrated groan. 

“Yeah. Just… gimme a sec.”

The shower-room door closes and Bucky carefully unwinds himself, a warm smile still colouring his cheeks.

“I’m on patrol all day.” He tells him. “This is gonna have to wait until tonight.”

Steve bumps his nose against Bucky’s and gives his head a small shake.

“It’s nearly been a week, Bucky. Think I might die if I don’t get some soon.” Steve whispers and Bucky throws his head back and laughs in delight, his eyes sparkling with humour.

“ _That’s_ supposed to be my line, Rogers.” Bucky reminds him as he leans past him to turn off the shower. “You were such a good girl when we first met.”

(And today’s a Good Day because Bucky is _Bucky_ and he’s smiling and joking and hiding the pain that’s slowly ripping him apart.)

Steve pulls him flush against his chest and bites his shoulder lightly. 

“What can I say? You’ve ruined me.” He sighs dramatically and Bucky turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, a coy smirk curving his lips.

“Good.” He breathes before capturing Steve’s mouth for one last kiss.

( _God_ , Steve thinks, please come back alive.)

 

…

 

Rulow has saved Steve a seat. Ever since that horrible day in May when they’d lost Dum Dum and Smith, Rumlow has taken a step back and has shown Steve a lot more respect than he had in the beginning. Steve supposes it’s because they have a common purpose now, people they have both lost and want to avenge. 

(Steve tries not to dwell on the fact that Rumlow spent almost as much time by Bucky’s beside during his recovery as Steve had.)

Steve isn’t too late and he thanks Peggy when she hands him a coffee. She sits at his right hand side and pushes a folder towards him, her expression unreadable.

“Is that work-related?” Tony quips as he glances between them both. “Or is it something you’ve gotten for Cap when he has some alone time?”

Steve takes a level sip of his coffee and ignores Tony whilst Peggy gives him a withering look.

“You know, Tony, it never ceases to amaze me how often a man with your incredible intellect lowers himself to such cheap shots at humour.” Peggy says with a small smile that only widens at the smirk on Tony’s face.

“I’ve got to try and appeal to the masses, don’t I? And between you and I, Pegs, there aren’t a lot of people with _our_ kind of intelligence and humour. A travesty, sure but sadly, true.” Tony sniffs dramatically and Peggy laughs delightedly, a beautiful smile breaking across her handsome face and Steve forces himself to look away.

(Bucky.)

“Some of us actually have shit to do.” Sam suddenly declares. “Is this meeting gonna start or did someone accidently invite me to the weekly social?”

“You know, a weekly social isn’t a bad idea.” Tony muses. “We could turn it into a kind of swingers club, if people were game for that kind of thing?”

Tony glances around at his colleagues before shrugging.

“I’d be game.” He insists with a wink in Peggy’s direction.

“I don’t think Ms. Potts would be.” Peggy tells him with a smile.

“She would be if she’s getting a chance with Stevie.” Tony says with a smirk.

Rumlow snorts and runs a hand over his face.

“Can we please talk business before Captain Rogers drowns himself in his mediocre coffee?” he demands.

“Peggy’s got a target.” Natasha announces as she arrives at the table. “A pretty fucking big one. Open your folders and let’s get started.”

Everyone opens their folders and reads the file in front of them. To his left, Rumlow snorts again.

“Abdul Al Bakahara, huh? Never heard of him.” He comments.

“With all due respect, Officer Rumlow, it’s not your job to have heard of him.” Natasha answers sweetly. “We gather the information and you guys shoot where we tell you to.”

To Steve’s relief, Rumlow doesn’t rise to the bait. He gives Natasha a violent grimace and waves his hand at her to indicate that she may carry on.

“We’ve yet to get permission from Director Fury but we’re certain it will come.” Natasha continues. “Al Bakahara is a Level Three, one level below our most wanted target, the Mandarin. In the folders in front of you, Agent Carter has devised an extremely detailed plan on how we would deal with this Level Three. We have reliable information that it was Al Bakahara who ordered the attack on our troops two months ago that killed two of our men and injured our most talented sniper. I think it goes without saying that S.A.D. and the American people have a lot of questions they want answered.”

 

…

 

“Al Bakahara.” Sam snorts as they drive through Damascus. “You know they’re gonna just kill him, right? Find a reason to have him shipped to America and put him on trial there.”

Steve keeps his eyes fixed on the deserted, crumbling streets and shrugs.

“Good.” He decides. “He killed two of our men.”

“S.A.D. needs a big kill.” Sam sighs. “They have quotas and numbers to fill.”

Steve shrugs again.

“We’ve got hours in fire-action to make up. Bucky has a certain amount of kills to get in a week. It’s the War Machine in action, I guess.”

Sam gives him a side-long glance, an unimpressed look on his face. 

“That isn’t very Captain America-y.” He points out.

Steve squints against the glare of the sun and fights the urge to close his eyes and verge off the road and into the nearest derelict building.

“I’m not feeling very Captain America-y lately.” He says quietly.

Sam nods and begins to fiddle with the radio.

“Maybe you need to ask for your R&R, man. You’re beginning to get jumpy.” He advises casually.

(Steve doesn’t tell him that he can’t ask for leave because Bucky has been denied his. That would only make Sam angry.)

“I’m just…tired.” He decides.

Sam snorts.

“Yeah. Well, you do spend most nights running between your bunk and Barnes’.” He comments drily.

Steve turns down a quiet side-street and shakes his head.

“I told you, Bucky isn’t sleeping well. He needs to burn off all that nervous energy. We go running.” Steve explains.

Sam lounges back in his seat, a wide grin on his face as he watches Steve.

“You know, _we_ used to go running together.”

And Steve knows he’s only joking but he still takes his eyes off the road to give Sam a searching look, wishing he could reassure Sam that he was still his best friend, no matter what, no matter how much time he spends with Bucky but the next thing, Sam is yelling _Steve!_ and when he turns his attention back to the road, he sees the wailing woman and tries to brake and it’s Sam who sees the detonator in her hands and who grabs the steering wheel from Steve and steers them back on course, right into the path of the shrieking woman and then there’s a distant banging sound and Steve feels the heat rush past his face and the _shushshushshush_ in his ears and then, then everything is gloriously black.

(And all Steve sees is Bucky.)

 

…

 

_Steve is laughing, he’s head is tilted up towards the sky and Peggy is tucked beneath his arm, her beautiful face turned up facing his, her scarlet lipstick smudged and Steve can taste the wax on his lips. The sky is clear and the breeze is light and teasing and Peggy’s fingers are trailing dangerously low to his belt and God, Steve wants to but not like this, not here in a country that haunts his darkest dreams._

_“You’re not afraid of anything, are ya?” Steve teases her and Peggy rolls onto her side, a contemplative look on her face._

_“What good is it being scared?” She asks. “Why live your life that way?”_

_And Steve simply shrugs, his smile slowly fading._

_“I don’t wanna live my life that way.” He tells her softly. “But sometimes fear is our biggest motivator.”_

_Peggy places a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth and shakes her head._

_“Happiness should be your biggest motivator.” She says quietly. “If it makes you happy or someone you care about happy, then you should do it. Why let yourself be pushed by anything less?”_

 

…

 

When Steve wakes, he takes a huge, gulping breath like a drowning man. His eyes are gritty and he can feel the warm trickle of blood oozing down his forehead. His ears are ringing and when he goes to move his body is shaking but he manages to move regardless. He glances to his left and sees that Sam is already awake, his head in his hands. Steve shakes his shoulder gently and tries to use his voice but his tongue his heavy and his lips won’t move. In the distance, they can make out the unmistakable sound of sirens and Steve gives Sam a thumbs up, his heart throwing itself against his already fragile ribcage. Sam mirrors his thumbs up and throws open the door and begins to climb out of the jeep. Already, there are locals coming towards them with water and First Aid kits and Steve feels weak with gratitude.

(Because they deserve to be shot at. They deserve to blown to pieces.)

Both Sam and Steve perch themselves on a low windowsill and accept the water graciously and Steve makes the mistake of glancing towards the direction of the sirens and there is the head of the wailing woman laying behind their jeep, her hair burned to her scalp and her eyes closed and standing beside it, is a small boy, crying and reaching for it and Steve’s head spins and he gets to his feet and he pukes and pukes and pukes.

(And he wishes he could go home.)

 

…

 

Time passes differently on tour. It trickles by unnoticed until suddenly Steve realizes that he has been here five months.

(Six months since he met Bucky, five months since he arrived, two months since Bucky was shot, less than twelve hours since he almost got blown up.)

Bucky was shot just before his R&R came through and refused to take it.

(“Go home, Buck. Jesus, go see your ma. I’ll still be here.”)

Steve wounds have barely congealed, the bruising above his eyebrow, bright and ugly and he shies away from Bucky’s touch, his chest heaving too deeply as Bucky tries to talk with him, tries to figure out how he’s feeling.

“Come on.” Bucky pleads, his hands gently brushing back Steve’s bangs. “Talk to me, Stevie.”

And Steve exhales slowly and just shakes his head again and again and again.

(Because Bucky deals with enough. Bucky has his own grief, he doesn’t need to shoulder Steve’s as well.)

And Bucky is upset, Steve can see it in the furrow of his brow and the firm set of his jaw and Steve is grateful that they’re alone, that Sam had finally taken the hint and walked away because there is a lump in Steve’s throat that is threatening to choke him and Steve _knows_ that if he tries to form words, that the tears will spill out instead. 

“You’re okay.” Bucky tells him quietly, his lips soft against the hot skin of his ear. “I gotcha. You’re okay, Steve.”

And something is pinching Steve’s heart so fucking hard and when he takes one, shuddering inhale of much needed air, the tears spring to his eyes and Steve gives Bucky a lost look.

“I killed his mother.” He whispers hoarsely. “ISIS probably killed his father. We’re just as bad as them, we’re causing just as much pain and destruction and all under the pretence that we’re doing good.”

(And Steve knows Bucky feels the same. He can see it etched across the pained expression on his face.)

“I want to go _home_.” Steve tells him. “I want to eat apple pie and junk food and get drunk and watch dorky movies with you and hold your hand in public and grow old with you and sleep together for a whole night without one of us having nightmares and-”

“Stop.” Bucky says suddenly, his hands digging almost painfully into Steve’s shoulders. “Just. _Stop_.”

There are tears in Bucky’s eyes now and his bottom lip is shaking and Steve buries his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck and inhales the soft, familiar scent of him hungrily, more tears leaking out from beneath his closed eyelids and Bucky’s arms are locked his shoulders and pulling him closer and tighter, his own chest moving shallowly. 

“This place is fucked up.” Bucky reminds him shakily. “And it’s fucking terrible and yeah, maybe we’re doing more harm than good but we gotta believe that we can help make things better or we’ve completely failed, Stevie. And you’re Captain America. You’re the Captain of the American people, of these people and they look towards you for guidance, right, pal? They need you to show them that we believe in the good. Otherwise they’re just more people we’ve failed, right?”

And Steve draws back and watches Bucky with watery blue eyes, a confused look on his face.

“Why didn’t you want to be Captain America?” he asks quietly.

Bucky licks his lips and shrugs one shoulder.

“Because I knew that someone better than me deserved the job; someone _good_.” He replies softly.

Steve shakes his head.

“I’m not a good person.” He tells Bucky and Bucky presses a gentle, loving kiss to his mouth and cups the back of Steve’s head, a serious expression on his face.

“You’re better than me.” He breathes against his mouth. “Better person than anyone I’ve ever known.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are just the best! I am so happy you're enjoying the story! 
> 
> So, don't be shy and tell me what you think xo


	9. Nine

_The room is dark. There are no windows, no doors, no air. Steve steps inside, his face slick with sweat and blood and his mouth dry and gritty, sand coating his teeth and scraping at his chapped lips._

_“Only one may live.” They tell him._

_And Steve’s heart is pounding against his chest and the room shifts beneath his feet and suddenly, he’s standing in the middle of an empty hall. There are three seats before him. Peggy, Bucky and Sam all stare back at him, their arms and legs bound to the chairs._

_“Just walk away, man.” Sam tells him desperately. “You’re not gonna be able to live with your choice either way; get outta here.”_.

_Steve inhales sharply and squints up at the blinding light above his head. He tries to shade his eyes with his hands and make out the face staring down at them and he shouts at them;_

_“Let them go! Take me instead!”_

_The figures shakes their heads and Steve glances back at his three closest companions, his chest feeling much too tight and his hands beginning to shake. They are all stripped naked with bruises and lacerations decorating their bodies. Peggy looks back at him sadly, blood slowly oozing its way down her face._

_“Just do what makes you happy.” She tells him quietly. “You deserve to be happy, Steve.”_

_And Steve tries to open his mouth and tell her that there is no happy outcome here but when he does, he vomits. He vomits and vomits and Natasha’s burned skull rolls past, a small child that bears resemblance to herself and Clint, pointing and screaming at it and when Steve turns to try and help the child, the room spins again and Bucky is kneeling before him, naked and bleeding and bound in chains as a masked man beats his back with a cane and when Steve tries to take a step forward, he is sent sprawling backwards._

_“Choose before we kill them all.” They warn him._

_Bucky looks up at him and Steve can see the dead, resigned look in his eyes; the one that Steve hates so much._

_“Just take her. I’m not enough. I can’t give you what you want, Steve.”_

_Steve wants to argue but Peggy is thrown towards him and when he looks over his shoulder, Sam is nodding approvingly and Steve winds his arms around her, burying his face in the familiar crook of her neck but something feels wrong and he looks at her, she’s crying, shaking her head and pushing at him._

_“You don’t make me happy, Steve. I’m sorry.”_

_The walls around the hall crumble and Peggy crumbles with them, covering Steve in a gritty sand and he coughs and wheezes, stumbling backwards and Bucky is standing before him, looking like he did that night at the bar, his lips red and his eyes bright and he reaches out for Steve’s hand, grinning before tugging him forwards and Steve blindly follows, trying to wipe at the sand that is stuck in his eyes and Bucky leads them to a cliff. They stop right at the edge and Steve gives Bucky an uncertain look as Bucky nods at him encouragingly._

_“We’ve already fallen, punk.” Bucky tells him cockily. “It’s time to take that final step. Prove to me that you’re mine.”_

_Steve’s chest tightens even further and he looks over his shoulder for someone to help him but is only them in the middle of the desert and when Steve hesitates, Bucky tugs harder on his hand before bending his knees and leaping into the air and Steve follows, holding Bucky’s hand as tight as he can and they fall and fall and fall and they plunge into the bluest of seas and Steve feels warm and contented as the heat of the ocean washes over him and he falls deeper and deeper and deeper, the light slowly fading out, leaving Steve with nothing but the reassuring feeling of Bucky’s hand wrapped around his._

 

…

 

“Jesus.” Steve gasps as he sits up in his bed, his body covered in sweat. 

He glances at his alarm clock and sees that it’s a little past four in the morning. He kicks back his bed sheets, trying and failing to move quietly as not to wake Sam.

“If you’re bringing Barnes back here, please no fucking.” Sam grumbles, not even opening his eyes. “There are only so many times I can listen to my Lionel Ritchie C.D on repeat.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head as he steps into his sweatpants.

“Don’t worry. If he’s not already here it means he’s sleeping. I’m not going to wake him.” Steve promises. 

(Even though he wants to. Even though he wants to bury his face in Bucky’s hair and make him promise that they were going to be okay.)

Sam hums happily and burrows deeper beneath his blankets, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, well, you go run and unwind or whatever and then you fucking _creep_ back in here and you don’t disturb me until my alarm goes off at seven, ya hear?” He mutters, his voice muffled slightly by the covers he has tucked beneath his chin.

Steve mumbles his agreement vaguely before slipping out the door and making his way to the running track. He’s a little surprised to see that there were already two figures making their way around the track and as he jogs closer, he makes them out to be Brock and Bucky.

(And the jealous part of him glows, a strange anger gripping him.)

“Hey.” Steve calls as he steps onto the track. “What are you guys doing here?”

Rumlow and Bucky slow to a stop and Bucky flashes him a warm smile that Steve doesn’t quite manage to return. Rumlow claps Steve on the shoulder and salutes him breathlessly, throwing his head back to look up at inky, starless sky as he tries to catch his breath.

“Barnes couldn’t sleep. Said he needed a run to blow off some steam.” Rumlow explains and Steve feels himself freeze at his words. 

He shoots Bucky a hurt look and raises one eyebrow before turning back to Rumlow and nodding.

“Oh yeah…uh…I couldn’t sleep either.” He says with a shrug and Steve knows he’s a shit actor because the hurt in his tone is evident and Rumlow is looking between them both with a confused expression.

(And he _knows_ , of course he does. Steve’s heart is dripping from his sleeve.)

“I’ll hand him over to you then, Captain.” Rumlow says kindly after a long pause. “I’m beat.”

And Steve _hates_ that Brock is actually a half-way decent human being and as he jogs away back towards base, Bucky turns on Steve with a perplexed look on his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Bucky demands, his large hands cupping his narrow hips, his strong chest heaving from their earlier exertions. 

“Why didn’t you wake me? Why did you go running with him?” He demands hotly and Steve can feel his cheeks flushing because, yes, he does realize how petty he sounds but he _can’t_ help himself.

(Because this was _theirs_ , why would Bucky share it with someone else?)

Bucky blinks in confusion and gives Steve a lost look.

“Because I’ve kept you up nearly every night this week; I figured you’d want some sleep. I got up to go for a run and Brock offered to come with me. I didn’t say no because I like the company.” Bucky says with a shrug as if it were actually that simple.

(The rational part of Steve’s brain tells him that it probably _is_ that simple but Steve refuses to listen to it.)

“You should have woken me, Buck.” Steve mutters quietly. “I…Just wake me. Next time.”

And Bucky gives him an incredulous look before nodding and taking a step closer to Steve, pulling him close for a warm, comforting embrace. 

“You have a bad dream?” He whispers against the skin of Steve’s neck and Steve nods against him, his hands coming up to rest on Bucky’s strong back.

Bucky presses a soft kiss to his jaw before drawing back and placing a kiss against his lips as well, smiling sadly as he did so.

“Me too.” He breathes.

(And Steve wonders if Bucky realizes that this is supposed to be _theirs_? That the idea of him sharing this with someone else made his stomach churn in the worst way.)

 

…

 

“I’m worried about Barnes.” Natasha announces as she cuts up her sausage into small, even pieces. “Or rather, Clint is but he asked me to tell Steve. He said he’s not sleeping.”

Sam chews on his toast thoughtfully before shrugging at his friend.

“Either is Steve. They go running every night and if they’re not running they’re fucking and if they’re not fucking, they’re usually having a blazing argument at the foot of my bed.” Sam sighs, his brows furrowing together at the memories before he straightens up in his seat and gives Natasha a lost look.

“So. I don’t know what good it would do saying it to Steve. He’s already trying to deal with it.” He advises, playing with his teabag absentmindedly.

Natasha glances around the bustling canteen and exhales slowly, shaking her head.

“It was too soon. I knew it was too soon to bring Steve back into action.” She mutters and Sam rolls his eyes at her, giving her an impatient look.

“And what was the alternative? Leave him behind moping in New York? You know as well as I do that he’d lose his mind if he was left alone in that shitty apartment in Brooklyn.” Sam argues.

This time Natasha rolls her eyes and waves her fork at Sam accusingly.

“He should have been left at Camp Lehigh. That’s what Fury _and_ Philips wanted but no, you just had to vouch for him, didn’t you?” She snaps.

Sam shoots Natasha a bored look and steals the last slice of sausage from her plate, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Of course I did. He’s my best friend, ‘Tasha. You think I’d leave him behind?”

 

…

 

“Any progress on Al Bakahara?” Steve asks Rumlow as the older man passes him a cup of fresh coffee.

Rumlow pulls a face and leans back in his chair, a helpless look on his face.

“Who gives a fuck? S.A.D. will send us out after him when they’ve enough information gathered and we’ll shoot him. Well, Barnes will. We’ll just flank him and _you’ll_ stand there and look pretty.” He teases, kicking at Steve playfully.

Steve narrows his eyes and gives Brock a tight smile whilst Bucky laughs delightedly, giving Brock a friendly wink.

“My kill list is nearly as long as Bucky’s.” Steve reminds him as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Clint laughs at this and shakes his head at Steve, drumming his fingers against the steel desk as he watches Steve with a bemused look.

“You know as well as I do that that’s bullshit.” He snorts. “Ain’t nobody got an aim like Barnes.”

(And Steve almost says something cruel, something he knows he couldn’t take back but he doesn’t.)

“Yeah, well, nobody I _know_ looks as good as Steve does in that suit. Ain’t no one got an ass like Rogers .” Bucky decides loftily, smiling at Steve sweetly and Steve can’t help but smile back as the others laugh, stopping only when Sam elbows him in the stomach.

“Transparent.” Sam mutters and Steve doesn’t think he cares.

(Until he sees Peggy and he knows she _knows_.)

Peggy clears her throat and wears an expression Steve only knows too well before she opens her mouth and begins to speak, assigning their roles and explaining how S.A.D. had decided to go forward.

“An initial meeting has been organised.” She announces. “We have yet to decide on a safe place but all who are present now are the team that we have decided upon. Once the safe place has been decided, Officer Rumlow and Captain Rogers will be debriefed on how it is we wish the SEAL team to progress.”

Bucky shifts a little in his seat and gives Peggy an uncertain look.

“Is this a trap? Are you luring him in with the promise of negotiations just to shoot him?” He asks and Steve can tell from his tone and the square set of his jaw that he doesn’t agree.

Natasha rolls her eyes and gives Bucky a hard look.

“Now isn’t the time to decide to develop a set of morals, Barnes. As Agent Carter already explained, our definite course of action has yet to be approved so until that moment we can’t share the specifics with your team. However, if you’re told to shoot Al Bakahara; you’ll shoot.” She says with a cold smile.

Bucky looks disgruntled and opens his mouth to argue when Rumlow holds up a hand to silence him. Bucky shoots his mouth with an audible snap, a furious expression on his face and Rumlow turns to Natasha, a sickly sweet smile on his face. 

“With all due respect Agent Romanoff, we’re not your circus monkeys. I have a highly skilled group of men who will work _with_ you, not for you, when we are given all the details we need. And if we choose to share an opinion, we will and you will not shut us down. If we have concerns, we expect them to addressed and acknowledged and if we have objections, you’ll listen. You fucking get it?” Rumlow growls before mimicking Natasha’s cold smile.

The soldiers nod approvingly and Steve wishes he’d been the one to stand up for Bucky.

(Because Bucky is watching Rumlow with the warmest of looks and when Rumlow winks at him, Steve feels a terrible tightening in his chest.)

Peggy gives Steve an expectant look as Natasha squares her shoulders, obviously preparing herself for a fight and so Steve raises a hand, knowing that he is expected to keep his men in line, even if what they were saying was fundamentally right.

“I think what Officer Rumlow is _trying_ to say, is that-”

“He spoke English.” Bucky cuts across Steve with a heated look. “He said _exactly_ what he wanted to say.”

And all eyes are on Steve and Steve can already feel Bucky’s hatred before he even says the words;

“Stand down, Sergeant Barnes. You do not cut across me when I am speaking, is that understood?”

Bucky inhales sharply but he sits back in his seat, a furious expression on his face as he glares back at Steve.

“Sir, yes _sir_.” He snarls and Peggy opens her mouth to thank him but Steve silences her with a look.

“Let the captain speak.” Sam orders quietly and Steve cringes.

(He doesn’t have their respect. He can see it from the way Clint rolls his eyes and Bucky visibly vibrates with anger.)

He wants to scream at them, wants to tell that that _he didn’t ask for this_. Instead, he takes a steadying breath before looking between Peggy and Natasha and the rest of their S.A.D. team.

“Officer Rumlow and I expect the S.A.D. to respect our men. We are _offering_ our services to you and we reserve the right to do what’s best for our men _and_ our country. As Officer Rumlow requested, come back to us once the full details of the operation become available and we’ll discuss it from there.” Steve snaps angrily before getting to his feet and storming out of the room, pretending not to notice the shocked and concerned faces of his colleagues.

He runs out of the S.A.D. tent and runs through the camp, ignoring the way people stare at him, ignoring the worried calls of other soldiers, asking him if he was alright. He kept going until he made it to the shower-room and began to rip the stupid Captain American suit from his body, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

(And he _hates_ Bucky for making him feel like this; for making him despise a part of himself he once loved.)

 

…

 

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to find him and it takes even less time for them both to be naked, standing beneath the spray of the shower with their arms wound around one another and their lips tracing the familiar contours of each other’s mouths.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky breathes into his mouth, around the slip and slide of his tongue and Steve shushes him, wanting to forget about that stupid meeting and his over-reaction.

(He needs to get out; Sam’s right. He’s getting jumpy. The smallest things pushing him to the edge.)

“It’s just, I thought you were going to defend _them_ , y’know?” Bucky whispers, breaking the kiss and looking up at Steve sweetly, blinking slowly as he looks into the others eyes. “And Brock is right, they treat us like their own personal circus-”

“Let’s just forget about it, alright, Buck?” Steve mutters, dipping in to steal another kiss, hoping that Bucky will take the hint and just _shut up_.

Bucky hums happily into the kiss and for a moment, the only sounds they make are the soft, wet sounds of their kissing and Steve slowly pushes Bucky back against the cool tiles, deepening into the kiss into something hungrier and Bucky starts to move against Steve, his hands digging into Steve’s shoulder, urging him to his knees and Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky’s less than subtle encouragements. Still, he drops to his knees and bites gently at the soft skin on the inside of Bucky’s thigh. Bucky pushes his hands through Steve’s hair and pushes his hips out from the wall, urging Steve on desperately. Steve wraps his hand around the base and squeezes lightly, a teasing smile on his face as he very softly sucks on the head, his hot gaze meeting Bucky's hungrily. He licks and slurps at the head until a steady stream of precum helps Steve slick up the shaft and then he begin to bob his way up and down, taking Bucky deeper each time as his throat grows used to the sensation. Bucky's sweet little puffs of breath drive Steve crazy and when Bucky tangles his hands through his hair, he groans around him, inching him deeper to the back of his throat, practically swallowing his entire length. Bucky's legs shake, his hips rocking up a little in search of more of sensation and Steve wraps one arm around the back of Bucky's thighs to help support him somewhat. He forces himself to relax his throat just that little bit more and then he feels it; he feels Bucky slide back his throat. And _fuck_ , Steve's own cock twitches at the feeling and he breathes loudly through his nose as Bucky's hips began to rock against him shallowly. Steve urges him on with a soft, moaning sound, knowing that the vibrations of his throat would travel through Bucky's cock. Steve pushes his head back into the grip of Bucky's hand in his hair and lets the other man hold him still and begin to thrust quicker.

" _Fuck_." Bucky hisses, "Fuck, Steve I- I can't- Not gunna last-Is this- Can I- I'm gunna come!"

“Good.” A voice calls out from the other side of the shower-room that Steve recognizes as Clint. “Maybe then some of the rest of us can have a wash before the hot water is all gone.”

Steve chokes a little and he glances up at Bucky, his eyes wide, but Bucky is too far gone to care, thrusting quickly into Steve’s mouth and finishing with a soft grunt. Steve swallows him carefully and slowly draws back, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His own erection was heavy against his thigh and Bucky quickly pulls him to his feet, kissing him hotly and jerking him off until Steve finishes mortifyingly quick. 

(Only Bucky can bring him to the edge like that, his touch hot and familiar and everything that Steve needs.)

Bucky peppers Steve’s mouth with kisses until Steve smiles and then he turns off the shower, leading them out of the cubicle. And Steve was right; Clint is standing there naked with a mildly annoyed look on his face.

“Guys, I’m so happy that you two fucktards have each and all but seriously? Do you have to blow each other in the shower-room?” He demands as he pushes past them into their cubicle.

Bucky laughs and slaps Clints ass as he passes, throwing Steve a warm smile over his shoulder as he gathers his clothes in his arms, brushing a quick kiss against Steve’s lips as wrapped his towel around his waist.

“I love you.” He whispers, one hand cupping the back of his neck. “You know that, right?”

(And Steve knows he should just nod. He should just nod and move on but he _can’t_ ).

“You love _Steve_.” He says quietly. “You hate Cap.”

The soft look on Bucky’s face disappears and he gives Steve an uncertain look, one eyebrow raised as he regards him carefully.

“I don’t _hate_ him, Steve. But he’s not… I fell in love with you. Not the man behind the shield.” Bucky whispers.

And Steve blinks once, twice, three times and shakes his head at Bucky.

“But I _am_ the man behind the shield.” He agrues.

“No, you’re not. Steve is sweet and brave and giving. Cap is…Cap is _empty_. He’s just a symbol. There’s nothing of substance behind him. Just a doll stuffed with other people’s ideas and ideals.” Bucky decides, tilting his head to the side and Steve shakes his head angrily, taking a furious step back from Bucky.

“Cap is a part of me, Bucky. I am Captain America. I am-”

“A symbol.” Bucky says simply. “A token gesture given to the people in times of sorrow.”

(And Steve feels as if his heart is breaking because... what if it’s true?)

“I don’t.” Steve starts, taking another step back. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Bucky nods and goes to make his way to the door but Steve stops him, calling after him;

“That night at the bar. If you’d known I was Captain America, would it have made a difference?”

And Bucky shrugs, watching Steve with those dead, lifeless eyes he hates so much.

“Like I said, I fell in love with Steve Rogers. Not some asshole in a suit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. We're at the beginning of the end!!!
> 
> let me know how you're feeling! The next two chapters are going to be rough kids xo


	10. Ten

Steve stares at the blank ceiling overhead, his fists clenched by his side, his breathing harsh and loud as he tries desperately to soothe the vicious thoughts swirling around in his head.

_Are you really surprised? Did you ever think you were good enough?_

_He’s right, you know. You’re nothing but a puppet._

_He was always too quick for you, constantly two steps ahead. What did you honestly expect?_

“You wanna tell me what happened or are you going to keep cursing at the poor, innocent ceiling fan?” Sam asks sleepily, one eye open as he watches Steve carefully.

Steve doesn’t blink or acknowledge in any shape or form that he’d heard what Sam said. He focusses on his breathing, trying to slow it down to something less violent but he knows it’s no use. He hears Sam sigh and shift in his bed, kicking back the covers as he climbs out and gets to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sam slip into his boots and Steve bolts upright in the bed, a slight frown colouring his face as he watches his friend approach the door.

“Where are you going?” Steve demands quietly, startling Sam a little, who turns around to face Steve with a confused look.

“To get Barnes. You sound like you’re in the throes of a stroke or like you’ve got a bad case of Rabies. Maybe Barnes can help-”

“ _No_!” Steve snaps angrily, leaping from his own bed dramatically. “No. I don’t need him. I’m fine, I’m fine, Sam, I just- not him. He’s, we’re…”

Steve trails away and Sam’s eyes widen. He takes a step away from the door and nods slowly.

“Oh.” He says softly as he crosses the room again. 

He stops a little away from Steve, a concerned look on his face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sam asks again, a more serious look on his face and Steve shakes his head.

“No.” Steve mutters, avoiding his friends caring gaze. “I- It’s fine. It’s just…it’s over. So. Yeah.”

 

…

 

Neither of them seeks the other out for days. Days pass and suns set and Steve’s heart cracks further with each moon that rises and when they finally meet, by accident, in the shower room, there is a moment where Steve believes that maybe everything is going to be alright because Bucky is looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes and Steve almost takes a step towards him but the air changes like the cloud swung wind and Steve stays strong. 

He stands tall and strong and rigid and clears his throat, thankful for the deserted bathroom.

(And his chest aches when he sees the light drain from beautiful, slate-grey eyes.)

“We should probably talk.” Steve says quietly, firmly. 

Bucky nods jerkily, his arms folded across his chest, his stormy eyes regarding Steve almost fearfully.

“Yeah.” He breathes and he takes a step closer and Steve wishes he wouldn’t. 

“I’ve been thinking.” Steve continues, choosing his words slowly, carefully. “And I love you. I do but I can’t… I don’t want you to be with someone you can’t love fully and if you can’t accept that Cap is a part of _me_ then. Well. We can’t be together.”

For a split second, Bucky’s face crumbles with hurt. But it’s only for a second and if Steve hadn’t been watching closely, he would have missed it. It takes Bucky a moment to pick his own words, his eyes downcast as he inhales deeply.

“I…don’t know what you want me to say?” He barks with a hollow, cold laugh. “I mean, it seems to me like you’ve made up your mind. That some empty version of you is more important than what we have.”

His words are hard and hurtful and Steve exhales sharply, his own blue eyes still trained on Bucky’s face. 

“See, you regard Cap as…make believe. A character I sometimes step into. But it’s not like that, Bucky. I _am_ Captain America-”

“Only because _I_ rejected it!” Bucky explodes, his grey eyes dark with fury, his face pinched and pale. “Anyone could be fucking Captain America, Steve. Open your fucking eyes; they just wanted a naïve, trusting soldier they could mould into whatever they pleased. And you fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

There’s truth to his words and Steve forces himself to keep his cool, trying to let the revelation burrow itself too deeply in his bones. Bucky is watching him now and Steve can almost see the apology shaping his full bottom lip, his face decidedly softer now, almost regretting his outburst.

“You told me only someone good could become Captain America.” Steve says softly, his eyes searching Bucky’s.

Bucky swallows and grimaces.

“I… I lied. Anyone could be him. He’s not special. _You’re_ special, Stevie. Steve Rogers is special. Captain America doesn’t need to be a part of you.” 

Steve sucks in his bottom lip before nodding, giving Bucky a tight half-smile.

“Maybe you’re right but I’ve a team who looks up to me and men who look to me for guidance and I can’t just give up on them. They see me as Cap. The American people see me as Cap and yeah, I’m probably just a mascot but it makes a difference. I can see it making a difference.” Steve says quietly, surely. “So. You deserve to be with someone you can love properly. Good luck with that.”

And Steve can see the horrible glimmer of tears in Bucky’s eyes but he doesn’t stop. He picks up his towel and walks out of the shower room and into the dead heat of the Syrian afternoon, his lungs straining to inhale more oxygen as he strides back to his cabin and sits on the edge of his bed, feeling his heart splinter into a thousand jagged shards.

 

…

 

“They’re Splitsville.” Clint announces quietly. “100 percent. Barnes is hiding in the shooting range, blasting anything that moves.”

Natasha nods and turns her attention to Sam.

“Rogers?” She asks.

“In the gym hating on some punching bags.” Sam says with a shake of his head.

“Any idea why it’s over?” Natasha demands, dunking her teabag into her hot water a little aggressively.

The splash burns the back of her hand but she doesn’t wince. Sam purses his lips and shakes his head just as Clint shrugs.

“This place is a shit-hole.” Clint mutters. “How could anything last here?”

Natasha gives him a curious look and Clint answers it with a defeated look of his own.

“We’re different.” He murmurs. 

That seems to be enough reassurance for Natasha and she turns her attention back to Sam.

“Is this going to be a problem? Do I need to alert Fury?” 

Sam gives her a less than impressed look and shakes his head slowly.

“Nat, if you go to Fury, I swear to God I’ll-”

“We’re making a move on Al Bakahara at the end of the week.” Natasha cuts across him impatiently. “I need to know that Captain America and the best sniper the American army has ever seen are going to bring their A game.”

Sam pauses for a moment before shrugging one broad shoulder, an unhappy look on his face.

“I don’t think they’ll let it interfere. But I can’t promise that they won’t.” 

 

…

 

She finds him like he knew she would.

(He’d thought she’d come sooner but he’d hurt her so he supposed he deserved the distance.)

“You told me you weren’t ready.” She points out quietly as Steve removes the straps from his wrists, sweat rolling down his heated body.

He turns to face her and ducks his head apologetically.

“I wasn’t. I’m not.” He mutters. “I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have- it was a mistake.”

Peggy huffs and shakes her head in disagreement.

“It’s never a mistake to love someone, Steve.” She argues softly. “You obviously- I’m not mad. I just wish you’d told me.”

Steve pushes his sweat slick hair out of his face and worries on his top lip, his blue eyes clouding over with something that is akin to guilt.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, shoulders slumping and Peggy takes a step closer, pressing one last kiss to his mouth, her perfume making him feel safe and loved and warm and when he opens his eyes he can see the regret in her eyes; the regret that he hadn’t chosen her.

“We could have been happy, you know.” She says with a smile. “I do love you.”

Steve nods, returning her smile with a faint one of his own.

“I wouldn’t have made you happy. Not the way you deserve to be.”

(He’ll never make anyone as happy as they deserve to be. He knows that.)

 

…

 

The sun rises and sets and rises and sets and Bucky disappears and Steve stops looking.

And it’s funny because before, before they saw each other every day whether they wanted to or not and now they have gone almost three days without seeing each other.

(And _God_ , it hurts. It hurts so much.)

Steve begs for leave. Pulls in as many favours as he can and still, Colonel Philips repeats the same thing over and over again;

_You’re needed here. You can get your leave when you’re not needed any longer, Captain Rogers._

So. He stays. 

He stays and masks his misery behind a tight smile and deep frown and Sam watches him carefully, quick brown eyes penetrating invisible walls and shields.

“You know, I’m proud of you.” Sam decides as they make their way to the S.A.D. tent for the latest update on Al Bakahara. “You’re keeping your shit together pretty damned well.”

“Not like I have a choice.” Steve mutters tiredly, squinting against the angry sun that refused to go down easy and he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the burning glare when he spots him. 

He’s walking alongside Clint, his shoulders squared and his hair tied back in some half collapsed bun and Steve wants to run to him, wants to wrap his arms around him and hand his shield to the next person who passes. 

(Cut Cap out of himself. Sacrifice a limb, an organ; _anything_.)

“Yo. I heard they got cronuts.” Clint calls out, slowing down deliberately to walk in with them and no one misses the furious look Bucky shoots his way before he reluctantly walks at a more leisurely pace. “They’re definitely about to dump some serious shit on us, right?”

Sam laughs quietly and nods.

“Probably. But I mean, we got Cap and Rumlow fighting our corner!” Sam declares mockingly, punching Steve’s arm lightly and Steve can’t even muster a smile because Bucky is looking right through him, his eyes cold and distant.

“Well. We’ve got Rumlow.” Sam amends, waving a hand in front of Steve’s face playfully. “You in there, Steve?”

And Steve wishes he’d stop because he knows. He knows how Steve feels and Steve _knows_ that he was trying to include him, trying to draw him out of himself but he can’t. Not when Bucky catches his eye and goes to open his mouth as though to say something and Steve’s world slows down as he watches his lips part, his heart racing as he imagines what Bucky could possibly want to say but then the moment is ruined because Rumlow comes bounding over, throwing one arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him close, laughing breathlessly as he looks round at the group excitedly.

“Is it true? Are we getting cronuts?” He demands giddily and the slightly uncomfortable look on Bucky’s face tells Steve all he needs to know.

 

…

 

S.A.D have a plan. 

They’ve a plan and real coffee and cronuts and Steve knows that they’re fucked. They’re fucked because they don’t have a choice, fucked because he can tell from the way Natasha is watching him that there is no other option. 

“So. We’ve accepted cronuts as payment for our certain deaths?” Clint demands as he sips his coffee, a small shiver of pleasure running through him at the taste.

“Insurance is pretty decent payment, too.” Rumlow says dryly. “Cronuts, French coffee and life insurance. Not bad for being blown to bits.”

“I can assure you all that _if_ the risks were as high as you all seem to think they are, we would have brought steaks and lobsters.” Peggy teases lightly and Sam cracks a slow smile.

“And you’re sure this is our guy?” He asks and Natasha nods.

“Months of intelligence confirm what we need it to. Al Bakahara is a big player.” She says decidedly.

“And so we kill him and then what?” Bucky suddenly demands. “ISIS back down? Come running and waving their hands in surrender?”

Peggy shifts a little in her seat and regards Bucky calmly, clearing her throat before she speaks.

“Not at all. If anything it will initiate some kind of warfare but we have the President’s backing and this course of action has been chosen as the best one. Because whether we like it or not, Barnes, they’re killing people without discussion. They’re attacking people for no reason other than the fact that they can and so it’s time for us to fight back.” She says firmly, her eyes burning with something dark and passionate and Steve has to look away from them both because his chest hurts again and Rumlow and Bucky are sitting too close together and Bucky licks at his cronut delicately and Steve thinks his heart is going to explode.

(And he thinks to himself, a dark, quiet voice in the back of his mind: please. Please let me be the one who dies.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! LIfe so BUsY.
> 
> Hope this chapter is okay! Comments are welcomed with incredibly opened arms!


	11. Eleven

_“Sir?” Steve croaks. “We need to move.”_

_Reeves closes his eyes and begins to shake his head when the glass of the window above them shatters and a bullet whistles past Steve’s ear, grazing his cheek before passing through Reeves’ skull and showering Steve in blood and bone and brain and as the men around him begin to scream, Steve can smell piss and shit and he looks down and his pants are wet and someone is screaming and that someone is him._

_It takes all of twenty-three seconds for Steve to realize that they need to move. Sam is trying to sit up and Reeves is slumped against the wall, what is left of his skull tilted back and his mouth open and gaping. Steve thinks he can hear the wind whistling through the hole in his school. The men around him are panicking, their rifles and AK’s clutched against their chests as they wait for someone to tell them what to do._

“Steve? Man, come on. We gotta get outta here.” Sam moans softly, pushing himself up on his elbows. “We’re like sittin’ ducks.” 

_But how can they move? They’re surrounded and more than half the men are injured. They’re running low on ammo, they haven’t eaten in two days and they’re down to their last few bottles of water. Steve feels uneasy. They’re turning to him for guidance and he’s not sure what it is he can offer. He takes a moment to think before nodding. He grabs Sam’s pistol and his own rifle and begins shuffling towards the door. He signals at the men to stay, ignoring the look of horror on Sam’s face._

_“Just let me try this.” He whispers. “Trust me.”_

 

…

 

Steve didn’t join the army to kill.

(And he certainly didn’t join it to die.)

He had wanted to save lives, had visions of himself learning the language, of joking with the locals, of playing soccer with the children and fellow soldiers. He supposes he joined at the wrong time, straight after 9/11 when Americans were filled with fear and hate and wanted nothing more than to hurt those who had hurt them. He’d seen the worst of it as a Marine and then went on to join the SEALs, only to witness an even darker part to the American army. 

(He’d seen what they did to women and children, had the witnessed the torture chambers where men had begged to die.)

He never dreamt of being a _hero_. He’d just wanted to be a good guy. Had wanted to make a difference. 

And now he was going to die for something he no longer believed in, something that haunted him with every breath he took.

 

…

 

“Are we sure that this is the best plan?” Rumlow mutters to Steve as they read over the documents S.A.D have spread across the table for them.

Tony is watching them with an unhappy expression and Steve knows that his quick mind can see all the flaws in the plan that Steve can see and probably more. It makes him feel uneasy. Rumlow is uneasy too, his shoulders hunched and his face pinched. 

“It’s not the best strategy.” Steve says slowly. “But…I mean, we have to work with Al Bakahara, right? That’s the only way we can get close enough to attack.”

“If you ask me, you should simply drop a good, old-fashioned explosive.” Tony mutters. “This ambush, it’s too…unreliable. There are too many variables that could go against you.”

“Can’t plan an airstrike.” Rumlow argues with a shake of his head. “They’ve got full control of the airspace and fly-zones. Only thing we’ve permission to have in the sky is our helicopter and the Syrian Government regulate that to certain fly-hours.”

“So, Peggy and Nat go out, unarmed and make it look like a proper negotiation whilst we surround the area and attempt an ambush?” Steve breathes, an unhappy frown shaping his face. “There’s- how do we know he’s not planning an attack of his own?”

“We don’t.” Rumlow sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess we gotta just hope that our strategist is better than theirs.”

 

…

 

“We’ve had worse plans.” Sam assures him as they get into their combat gear. “Remember the time we used Morita as a decoy and prayed they wouldn’t riddle him with holes?”

Steve doesn’t return Sam’s smile. Al Bakahara was a much bigger threat than a few, isolated mountain rebels. If Al Bakahara was the big player Peggy and Natasha were convinced he was, then Steve knew that this plan wasn’t going to go according to plan. ISIS were chaotic but they were meticulous when it came to their own men and they were no fools; if you were someone of worth, you were protected. 

“People are gonna get hurt, Sam.” He says quietly, zipping up his suit. “I don’t wanna let that happen.”

Sam locks his helmet in place and gives Steve a sad smile.

“You can’t protect us from _everything_ , Steve. We signed up for this.” He reminds him gently as he walks towards the door. “I’ll meet you in the van.”

 

…

 

The van is suffocating. 

The air is thick and the silence is heavy.

They are all tense, everyone’s body are wound too tight, like coils ready to spring loose.

(And Bucky’s eyes haven’t left Steve’s face since they started driving and Steve has no choice but to look at his feet, afraid of what he might see otherwise.)

“It’s gonna be okay.” Sam says to break the silence, a confident smile on his face. “We’re going to be okay. We just do what we’ve gotta do and we get out, y’hear?”

Steve glances upwards and he meets Bucky’s eyes. They’re wide and sad and when Steve moves to look away, Bucky’s hand reaches out, fingertips barely grazing the knee of his trousers.

“We…don’t be the hero, not today.” He mutters quietly. “We’re all getting out of here _alive_ /.”

Steve wants to reach out and hold his hand, wants to say something witty to put them all at ease because they’re all looking at him now, each of them silently agreeing with Bucky. And Steve wants to tell them that he’d sacrifice himself a thousand times over. That out of everyone here, he’s the one that _deserves_ to die.

(Because he’s a coward; hiding behind his shield.)

But he just blinks at Bucky and tries to fight against the _I love you_ tingling on the tip of his tongue. And Bucky must know, because the smallest of smiles ghost across his lips before he leans back into his seat, his eyes still never leaving Steve’s face and Steve looks back at him, cheeks only slightly flushed and heart racing.

(And please, Steve thinks, give me the chance to make this right.)

 

…

 

Tragedies happen in the strangest of ways, Steve realizes. 

He’d been eleven when he’d experienced his first brush with death. His mother had been sick and they hadn’t the money for her treatment and Steve can remember his school organizing a fundraiser, can remember selling all his toys and baking rock buns and telling himself over and that _this is going to work!_

He’d been so confused when she died, anyway. That despite everything, despite the fundraisers and support and love that they’d received from everyone around them, that she’d slipped away. He couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand how God could let that happen.

(But Steve watches their bullets crack open and light up the sky, he knows that God has no hand in things like this. )

The plan backfires. It backfires in a way that makes Steve wonder if there was ever even the slightest chance of success. 

One moment, Peggy and Natasha are waiting, in the middle of the open desert for his arrival, and the next Al Bakahara is face down on the ground and all Hell breaks loose.

(Because Bucky never misses.)

Natasha is injured, Steve can just make out Clint carrying her towards the van and the crackle of gunfire and the smell of blood is making Steve’s stomach turn but he keeps running towards Bucky’s nest because _they’ve planted a bomb, get out, get out, Buck; there’s a bomb._ And Al Bakahara was a sacrifice; that much is clear now. Because the fighter jets know their co-ordinates and bullets and explosives are raining down and Sam is shouting in his comm, telling him to get back to the van but Bucky’s still in his nest and _there’s a bomb_.

(Rumlow is down and Steve knows that if he doesn’t save Bucky, no one will.)

He’s in the building and he’s taking the old, stone steps two at a time and he’s shouting, screaming at Bucky to come on and Bucky is yelling back, telling Steve to _get out, get out, you idiot!_ He reaches the top, he reaches it just in time for a searing rush of heat to blow past his face and for the building to shake in the most terrifying of ways and Steve stumbles back a few steps, still screaming Bucky’s name.

“Go!” Bucky roars over the deep rumble of the building. “Get outta here!”

“No-not without you!” Steve bellows back and there is another explosion and Steve falls back a few more steps and his heart is in his mouth because the floor is cracking and the walls are crumbling and Bucky is coughing through the dust, curled in on himself and clearly afraid.

And he sees it coming, can see the blinding light coming through the broken window behind Bucky but when he opens his mouth to speak he swallows dust and there is a flash and the smell of burning flesh and Steve can hear someone screaming in agony and he thinks that someone might be him.

 

…

 

_“I’m gonna grow old with you.” Bucky hums, his arms wrapped around Steve’s chest, their slick, naked bodies fitting together perfectly.. “And we’re gonna get a nice house, one befitting of Captain America, and a cute dog and maybe some kids, depending on how generous Clint and Nat are feeling and I-”_

_“I love you, man.” Sam slurs, tripping a little as he walks. The cool, New York air was crisp and billowing around them sweetly and Steve kept his arm around Sam’s shoulder, offering as much assistance as he could. “I mean it. You’re my very, very best friend but if you tell Natasha that I will deny it. That woman is terrifying and has some pretty-”_.

_“Pretty big package you’ve been hiding there, Rogers.” Natasha smirks as Steve desperately scrambles around his apartment to find some pants. “I mean, I knew you were a shower but a grower, too? I’m kind of disappointed I never took you up on that date.” And she’s smiling and Steve knows she’s joking but he’s still flushed with embarrassment. Her smile softens as she hands him some pants and there’s a warm look in her eyes. “Thanks for letting me in. I had nowhere else to go-”_

_“Go get your own friends, Rogers.” They sneer. “No one here likes you anyway. You’re a baby and my mom told me you still have to wear diapers like a baby, too!” Steve’s eyes widen horribly and he clutches at his pants as they come foward to try and pull them down. “No, p-please. I d-don’t.” He stutters, his weak, tired heart fluttering in his chest frantically and Steve kicks at them as best he can, trying to fight them off as they jeer and crow at him. “Little Stevie Wogers, still wets his boxers.” They chant. “Little Stevie-”_

_“Stevie? Honey. Wake up. Come on. Wake up for Mama. Wake up, baby. Open them big baby blues for Mama, Stevie…”_

 

…

 

“Steve? Steve, if you can hear me, I want you to open your eyes.”

His eyelids are heavy, much heavier than he remembers them ever being before and he struggles for a moment, before he takes in the kind, brown eyes of a nurse who’s nametag reads _Darcy_. She beams at him as his eyes open and turns around to the young doctor beside her, another kind-faced, sweet eyed woman called Dr. Foster. Dr. Foster comes closer and she places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, a warm smile colouring her beautiful face and Steve thinks he can smell apple and cinnamon, like the pies his mother used to make.

“Steve. You’re in New York, okay? It’s November 5th, 2015. You’ve been in an induced coma for almost three weeks.” Dr Foster tells him gently and Steve’s eyes are filling with tears and he doesn’t understand why and when he opens his mouth to speak, words won’t come out. 

(November? Hadn't it been September a few hours ago?)

Darcy comes forward and holds a straw to his lips and Steve takes a deep, slow sip, the taste of the orange juice exploding across his tongue and making it tingle.

“I’ll explain everything later.” Dr Foster assures him, warm smile still in place. “But for now, I need you to rest for me, okay? And remember that you’re okay. You’re in a safe place now, Captain Rogers.”

 

…

 

“And you charged in there like the dumb motherfucker you are and did you know an _entire_ building collapsed on you and you only broke a few measly bones?” Sam laughs, the screen shaking as he did so.

His voice sounded strange and static-y in Steve’s headphones but he laughed alongside him anyway.

“They’re gonna discharge me soon.” Steve tells him. “Said that once their sure my neurology reports are okay that I can go home.”

Steve doesn’t mention that he’s not sure where home is right now. Home has always been where Sam and Natasha were but they were in Syria and Steve was in New York.

“Well, that’s fucking fantastic, Stevie!” Sam exclaims, his brown eyes dancing with warmth and affection. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Steve rolls his eyes and laughs when Sam pulls a face.

“How is everyone?” Steve asks, careful not to mention the one name Sam has avoided since the conversation started.

Sam shrugs, his face suddenly, carefully blank.

“Nat is making a full recovery. She’s gonna be flown home soon, I think. Rumlow is getting better, his face is pretty badly burnt though. And uh…”

“Bucky.” Steve prompts, his heart in his mouth. “How’s Bucky?”

Sam coughs and clears his throat, giving Steve a cautious look.

“He’s…listen, Steve, you did everything you could- alright? You did more than anybody else did.” Sam tells him and Steve feels his heart swell in the worst ways.

“Is he…did he-”

“He’s in a rehabilitation centre in California with Stark.” Sam says quickly and Steve exhales sharply, the grief that had been rising in his throat plummeting back into his stomach. “He’s in a rehabilitation centre and he’s…well, he’s not doing too good. He lost an arm. They’re not sure if he’ll walk again either.”

Steve stares at the screen for a moment before nodding, his chest suddenly too tight as he struggled to take his next breath.

“But he’s-” Steve starts just as Sam cuts across him.

“I gotta go. He’s alive, Steve. If barely. You focus on getting better. My leave is in two weeks man, I can’t wait to see you.”

 

…

 

November 9th, 2015.   
11:34pm  
Hey, Buck.   
Just got my cell back working.   
Sam told me you’re in Cali? How’re you holding up?  
SR.

 

…

 

November 11th, 2015.  
12:01am  
Hey.  
Dunno if you got my last message. Not sure I remembered your number properly.   
How are ya? I’m gonna be discharged soon, I think, soon as I stop pissing myself.   
SR

 

…

 

November 14th, 2015  
03:15am.  
You still gettin’ nightmares?  
Mine are worse now, than before. Wish you were here.  
I miss you.  
SR

 

…

 

November 15th, 2015  
09:30am.  
I love you. Just so you know. I still love you.  
SR

 

…

 

November 19th, 2015  
04:25am.  
I still love you too.  
JB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO...  
> two chappies left, kiddies...  
> how are we feelin?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beyond sorry about the delay! Life has been HECTIC.

November passes quickly—quicker than Steve ever thought it would. One morning he wakes in the hospital, surrounded by familiar faces and comforting smiles and the next, he’s thrown into a new, charmless apartment, staring at the blank cream walls surrounding him.

(But how did he get here? How has he done so much but ended up with nothing?)

He tries calling Bucky. He wants to speak to him; he wants to convince him to move to New York, to come live with him. They can start afresh. Fix the things they broke and just _move on_.

But.

Bucky isn’t answering his phone. Or replying to any of his texts and when Steve makes the mistake of calling Tony, Tony sighs and says;

“I don’t think you’re the kind of person he wants to talk to just yet.”

 

…

 

Steve eats in a homeless shelter at Thanksgiving. Sam was supposed to be back. He’d called and said he would and when Steve had text him the next morning there was no reply. So, he went to his nearest soup kitchen and sat down and ate. People who recognized him said nothing, people who didn’t chatted to him like an old friend. And Steve felt so incredibly guilty. They knew _real_ pain. What Steve was going through was nothing. He was just lonely. They were hungry and cold and he almost invited them back to his apartment when he realized with a horrific jolt that he had nothing to offer them. He hadn’t paid his gas or electricity bills and so he was cut off. He’d forgotten to. And now he had nothing but a cold, empty apartment and the bunks at the shelter looked so warm and inviting that Steve almost slept in one until a volunteer approached him and asked if he wanted them to call him a cab.

(He wanted them to call Bucky.)

 

…

 

“Man, I’m so sorry. Mom blindsided me at the airport and I had to go eat with them, you know?” Sam apologized, paying Steve’s bills from his smartphone and Steve poked at the donuts he’d brought for breakfast.

“It’s fine.” Steve assured him quietly. “I wasn’t up for much socializing anyway.”

Sam nodded sympathetically, taking a loud slurp of his coffee.

“Yeah, well, that’s all gonna change tonight, right? Me, you, Nat and Barton are hitting the town. Barton wants to go to this new club and-”

“No.” Steve said quickly, eyes glancing up to meet Sam’s. “I’m not ready for that.”

Sam stirred his coffee and shook his head.

“You are ready. We’re all gonna be there with you, okay? It’s fine. We’re all a little shaky after what happened. It’ll be fine.” He promised firmly, giving Steve an encouraging smile and Steve felt his heart rate pick up as he imagined being in a dark, loud room with other people pressing against him and dancing.

(He was scared. Terrified of being trapped.)

“I don’t want to.” He whispered but Sam carried on as though he hadn’t heard him.

“Nat’s coming over later to help you with an outfit. I’ll bring beers... there! Bills are paid. You’re back in the land of the living, Rogers.”

 

…

 

December 1st 2015  
3.45 pm  
Sam’s bringing me to a club tonight. I don’t want to go.  
How are you?  
SR

December 1st 2015  
8.11 pm  
Nat is squeezing me into skinny jeans. You’d approve.  
SR

 

…

 

“You can see _everything_!” Steve complains as he looks at himself in the mirror, taking in the skinny jeans with a frown.

“Exactly.” Natasha sighs with a dramatic eye-roll. “You’re supposed to be able to see everything. How else are you gonna bag someone hot?”

Steve frowns even deeper and gives Natasha an unhappy look.

“I don’t need to _bag_ anyone. I’ve got Bucky.” He says softly and he doesn’t miss the look Natasha shoots Clint.

“What?” Steve immediately demands, turning on the other two quickly. “Why did ye look at each other like that?”

Clint looks uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat and he glances up at Steve with an almost apologetic look on his face.

“Look, Steve, I wanted to tell you, okay? But Barnes asked me not to and with the way he’s been lately, I thought it best to just do as he-”

“He’s in New York.” Natasha snaps, cutting across Clint as she reapplies her lipstick. “He moved back a few weeks ago. He’s not ready to see you.”

Steve stands still, hardly breathing as he looked between his friends, his brows furrowing and his chest aching. Bucky was… He was in New York? He was _here_ and he didn’t…?

“I’m sorry, have I done something wrong?” Steve demands, banging his chest dramatically. “Why won’t he text me back at least?”

(Because it was all his fault. Steve should have saved them when he had the chance.)

Natasha closes her compact mirror and gives Steve a scrutinizing look.

“I don’t think it’s about you. I think it’s about him and what he needs. He just doesn’t _need_ to be around you right now. And you’re going to respect that and you’re going to stop bombarding him with texts and you’re going to go out tonight and kiss somebody else and get drunk and cry about how much of an asshole Barnes is and we’re going to be there and comfort you. Because we’re best friends and that’s what we do, alright?”

Steve nods, even though he doesn’t agree. He doesn’t want to go to a nightclub and he doesn’t want to kiss someone else and doesn’t fucking _want_ to respect the space Bucky needs because _he_ needs Bucky and how come what he wants is never fucking taken into consideration?

(But he nods. He nods and nods and nods and tries to ignore the sinking in the pit of his stomach.)

 

…

 

The club is packed and the music is loud and Steve can’t breathe properly. Natasha keeps his hand in hers and Clint keeps buying him drinks and Steve keeps drinking them until the room starts to spin and he has no choice but to close his eyes and try and focus on something that doesn’t make him feel as though his spinning through some horrible, suffocating abyss. 

(But he keeps choking, he keeps choking on air.)

“Come on.” Sam suddenly announces. “Let’s dance.”

The other two nod eagerly and Steve knows he has no choice but to follow them.

(Because he’s _that_ guy now, the friend they’re too scared to leave on his own.)

The dancefloor is crowded and Steve clings to Natasha, the strobe lights overhead making Steve think of searchlights coming to rescue them and the room suddenly spins faster and the walls fall in on themselves, crushing everyone as they fall and Steve is screaming, he’s screaming but he doesn’t seem to make a sound and he can’t breathe, _he can’t breathe_ and there’s a hand on his cheek, a voice telling him to focus and all Steve can see is dust and ashes and Bucky is crying, he’s crying out in pain and Steve can’t- Steve- _Steve_...

He’s on the floor. There’s a circle gathered around him and Natasha’s holding his face, a terrified look in her eyes and Steve feels weak. He looks up at her, embarrassed and ashamed and he accepts the hand Sam offers him and lets his friends lead him to a quieter, safer part of the club. He drinks the water slowly and hums around the rim of his glass as Sam asks him how he’s feeling.

(He’s exhausted. He want’s to go home but he knows they’ll just send him to that apartment.)

“Wanna stay at mine tonight?” Natasha asks, almost as if she can read Steve’s mind and Steve nods gratefully.

“Please.” He croaks.

 

...

 

Natasha and Clint’s new apartment is warm and cozy and Steve happily curls into a ball on the sofa, closing his tired eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of something he can’t place his finger on. He can hear them whispering in the kicthen, can hear Natasha getting angry but when she returns she doesn’t show any sign of being annoyed. She drapes a blanket over Steve and sits on the coffee table opposite him, her brow furrowed as she takes him in.

“Move in with us.” She urges gently. “I don’t want you living in that apartment on your own.”

Steve swallows.

(He wasn’t supposed to be on his own. Bucky was supposed to be with him.)

“No.” He says slowly. “This is you and Clint’s space.”

“Just until after Christmas.” Natasha insists. “Please. Just until after the holidays. Peggy’s coming home soon. She’s going to stay here too. It’ll be good for you.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“I don’t love Peggy.” He murmurs.

“She loves you.” Natasha points out. “She’s here, Steve. Not Barnes.”

Steve winces.

“He’ll come back. I know he will. Bucky won’t leave me down.”

(Not after everything. Not after what had happened.)

 

...

 

Steve stays with Natasha and Clint. Their building is nice and their neighbours are friendly.

He sees Bucky everywhere. Whenever he’s in the city, no matter where he goes. Bucky is like some kind of ghost, haunting Steve, making Steve’s heart race everytime he sees messy brown hair and strong, broad shoulders. 

Peggy comes home and holds Steve for a long, long time, crying silently against his shoulder and Steve lets her, his hands in her hair and his lips pressed against her temple.

(She’s familiar. She’s familar and she’s safe and Steve embraces her tightly and tries not to think of long nights beneath the yellow, Afghan moon.)

“I met Barnes. He looks well.” Peggy sighs, giving Steve a watery smile. “I thought you two would have moved in together by now. His apartment in Brooklyn is beautiful, isn’t it?”

And Steve’s heart stops.

(What had he done? Why was everyone else allowed see Bucky except him?”

“I...I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen it.” Steve says quietly, stepping away from Peggy, his face tight and unreadable.

He sees it dawn on her. The realization.

“Oh. I thought...um. Gosh. I’m sorry.” She mutters, clearly flustered and Steve shrugs.

“It’s okay. You want a coffee?”

 

...

 

Natasha and Sam both told him to stay away but Steve can’t. He wants to know what he’s done to deserve such...contempt. So, he takes a taxi to Brooklyn, not caring about the ridiculous fare and he waits. 

He waits and waits and waits, sitting on the steps outside the building Peggy had reluctantly told him about and it’s dark before he hears a familiar laugh, talking in fluent Russian on the phone.

“он здесь.” Bucky mutters. “Yeah, he’s here.”

 

Steve doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze on his sneakers and tries to ignore the way his heart hammers in his chest and his hands shake. Bucky says something else that Steve doesn’t understand and then there’s silence and Steve has no choice but to look up and the first thing he sees is the metal arm. It’s huge and shiny and kind of menacing but Steve admires it all the same before his eyes land on that familiar face and he feels as if the breath has been punched from him. Bucky is frowning and he’s not looking Steve in the eye, his gaze fixed over his shoulder and he shrugs and finally drags his gaze to meet Steve’s.

 

“I don’t remember asking you to come visit me.” Bucky says slowly and Steve winces.

 

“Fuck you.” Steve whispers harshly, breathlessly. “Fuck. You.”

 

Bucky flinches and searches Steve’s face before nodding.

 

“Suppose you wanna come inside?” He mutters and Steve shakes his head, hardly able to understand Bucky’s reaction.

 

“I want a fucking explanation.” Steve snaps. “I want to know why. Why you let everyone else see you, why you contacted everyone except me. What the fuck did I do wrong?”

 

Bucky gives Steve a tired look and Steve _knows_ that look. It’s look Bucky wore when they broke up. The look he wore when he was told that Dum Dum had died.

 

“Nothing.” Bucky sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Can we please do this inside?”

 

Steve shakes his head and gets to his feet, anger consuming him.

 

“No. No we can’t. We’re doing this now.” Steve demands, his hands balling into fists. “Have you any idea how much you... Why? You told me you still loved me and –”

 

“I’m not doing this here.” Bucky snaps, pushing past Steve and climbing up the steps and it’s only then that Steve notices the limp. “Either come inside or get fucked, Rogers.”

 

And Steve wants to leave. He wants to be the strong one. He wants to be the one who’s in charge _for once_ but he can’t. Because it’s Bucky. Becuase Steve would give him anything he wanted and so he follows him inside and up the stairs into a beautiful, open plan apartment and Bucky collapses into a seat and rubs at his leg agitatedly and he catches Steve staring at the metal arm again and raises an eyebrow.

“Impressive, huh? Stark made it. Almost like a real arm.” Bucky explains with a grunt. 

 

Steve nods and almost reached out to feel the smooth, metal plates before deciding against it and folding his arms across his chest.

 

Bucky glances at him before sighing and looks out the window, out towards the flickering lights of cars passing by and the twinkle of the street lamps.

 

“I keep having the same nightmare.” Bucky murmurs. “That you’re trapped in the rubble and I can hear you screaming my name, begging me to say you and I can’t because my arm’s ripped out of my shoulder and my legs won’t work and I’m crying, you know- real sobs. And I can hear you choking on the dust, your voice getting more and more muffled and then...nothing. Fucking silence. And do you wanna know what the worst part is? I’m not sure if it’s a memory or not. Bits of it feel... _real_.”

Bucky swallows and tugs at the end of his longish hair and Steve says silent, doesn’t want to tell Bucky that it couldn’t be a dream if Steve dreamt the same thing. Bucky coughs quietly and picks at a loose thread in his jeans.

 

“I’m not ready to be with you again. I...I love you, of course I do and I told Nat that. But I guess I just need time.” Bucky shrugs.

 

“Why didn’t you tell _me_ that instead of everybody else?” Steve demands softly and Bucky winces.

 

“Because...a part of me hoped you’d find someone else, someone that you actually deserve. And that...you know. You’d move on and then you wouldn’t want me and everything would be okay.” Bucky whispers and Steve can’t help but get to his knees and shuffle closer to the smaller man, a tortured look on his face.

 

“I don’t want anybody else. You’re it for me. I’m with you til the end of the line, Buck.” Steve breathes and Bucky’s shaking hands find their way to Steve’s hair and push their way through the short, blonde locks and there are tears in Bucky’s eyes and Steve doesn’t know who kisses who first, but it’s better than any kiss they’ve ever shared before and Steve is breathless when the pull apart, tears burning his eyes.

 

“I’ve been going crazy without you.” Steve admits softly and Bucky gives him a watery smile, his metal hand cool against Steve’s cheek.

 

“Kiss me again.” He demands quietly and Steve happily obliges.

 

...

 

Steve is almost asleep when Bucky texts him later that night.

 

December 10th, 2015.  
01:16 am.  
Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow night?  
Some beer and a few slices?  
JB

 

Steve smiles softly to himself and curls around the screen of his phone.

 

December 10th, 2015.  
01:22 am.  
We’ve done this all backwards, you know.  
I haven’t been on a date in years.  
SR

 

December 10th, 2015.  
01:24 am.  
Is that a yes?  
JB

 

December 10th, 2015.  
01:27 am.  
Yeah.  
But we’re not having sex on the first date. I’m not that kind of girl.  
SR.

 

December 10th, 2015.  
01:34 am.  
I fucking love you.  
JB

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, comment, slate...lemme know how you're feeling!


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